The Body's Guest
by bardvahalla
Summary: Gregory House sells his soul. Conclusion and continuation of 'Vicodin Like Flynn', 'Riddle of the World', 'House Bound', 'Obscene House Calls' and 'Uncertain Hour of the Burning Heart'. NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: This story is a sequel, conclusion or tangential offshoot to several of my other House stories, "**Riddle of the World**", "**Obscene House Calls**", "**House Bound**", "**The Uncertain Hour of the Burning Heart" **and "**Vicodin like Flynn**". I strongly recommend that you read those stories first (if you haven't already) or **"The Body's Guest"** may WTF? you.

Just click on my namelink above, BARDVAHALLA to access them.

(Or not. No pressure )

(House torment! Cam rebound angst! Wilson divorce angst, and Kinky!Chase angst. Return of Dr Dean (therapist), Anne (House's tumor-ridden GF) and Cheapshots!House featuring Foreman and special musical guests. Horizontal mambo-ing, gushy romance, obscure poetry and tribute to X-file storyline.)

**The Body's Guest**

(Bardvahalla 2005)

_In the hot prison of the present, month_

_To month with weary pain_

_It is to suffer this,_

_And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel_

_Deep in our hidden heart_

_Festers the dull remembrance of a change_

_But no emotion – none._

(Matthew Arnold)

CAMERON

Wilson looked away, his eyes suddenly glassy with remorse. She knew he already regretted saying anything to her. "Terminal cancer? Cameron forced her fist to unclench. Nails left harsh little smiles in her palms.

"Yes." Wilson brushed at his eyes with his coat sleeve. "She showed up about six years ago. Tumor the size of a tennis ball. A bad one. I only gave her a few months to live."

House is actually sleeping with her, she thought incredulously. Cameron sat in silence for a time, digesting this new development. "It's so unlike him."

Wilson made a harsh sound. A laugh of sorts, but too bitter to do one justice. "You don't know House, Alison. Don't even try to."

Cameron bristled. "If one more person says that-"

Wilson crushed an empty Styrofoam cup in his hand. "For God's sake, Cameron, what's the matter with you? Everyone - even your own common sense - is telling you to distance yourself from House." He tossed the dead cup into a bin nearby. "It's like the world tells you it's noon and you insist it's midnight."

She shook her head. "I'm not pushing a relationship with him anymore."

"Cuddy thinks you're just changing tactics."

"Cuddy can bite my ass." She leaned towards him. " Wilson, I know what it's like to devote yourself to someone doomed to die. I should talk to House about -."

"No, you shouldn't." Wilson stood up. "Don't try to play the wise and all knowing colleague. I told you so that you will move on. House doesn't love her and he'll never love you. That's it. That's all."

Her pager beeped - clinic patient call. Cameron struggled for a rebuke as Wilson turned and strode away. _Idiot!_

She paused to gather her purse and tidy the table.

Wilson didn't understand.

House didn't understand.

What they didn't know was that she _didn't_ want them to understand.

CHASE

Chase spoke softly into his cell. "At least two hours." Pause. "Yes, I know it's on Halloween night but once I'm done here I'm going there - barring any emergencies, of course." Pause. "Looking forward to it. Yes. Yes. No. Got to go. Bye."

He put the cell in his pocket and returned to the office. The white board was blank, thankfully. If all went well, it would be quiet for the next few days and he could enjoy the weekend. From experience however, he knew Halloween brought out the stupid in people. The clinic would be busy.

He glanced through the glass and noticed a woman sitting in House's chair, long legs propped up on his desk. She was reading an old copy of Weekly World News. The headline blared "Satan's Face appears in Volcanic Blast".

Chase stuck his head in. "Can I help you?"

"No."

Her voice was appealingly husky. Chase entered the room and regarded her.

Patient? She obviously wasn't a hospital employee. She wore dark blue jeans, low-heeled black boots and an earthy brown leather jacket. The faint scent of expensive perfume teased his nostrils. House's new squeeze? He'd thought he seen her in the clinic lately.

"Are you waiting for Dr. House?"

She flipped down the paper and regarded him with cold eyes. Dark and unblinking. Dead, shary orbs. "Greg'll be back soon. You must be Chase."

A chill passed through him. Almost immediately he decided he didn't like her.

"And you are?"

"Trying to read." She flipped the paper back up and ignored him.

Bitch, Chase thought.

He returned to the kitchenette and boiled water for tea. A short search did not turn up any Orange Pekoe. He would chew off his own leg before drinking any of the vile stuff Cameron liked. He found a slightly stained pouch of Earl Grey under the sugar bowl and used that. The heady steeping perfume of his tea filled the room and his thoughts drifted to the coming weekend. His old buddy held a traditional Vicars and Tarts party every October. Chase hadn't missed one yet, and didn't intend to this year. He had his costume, a relic he kept from his seminary days. Tonight he would fetch his dog collar and robes from the drycleaners. He hoped the stains had come out.

The odd sound of House laughing drifted in from the office. He turned and watched House and the woman saunter towards the elevators. They passed by Cameron without so much as a glance. Cameron, on the other hand, turned and regarded the woman with such vile loathing that Chase nearly dropped his steaming mug. He turned away and sipped his tea, pretending an intense interest in an x-ray still stuck on the lightbox.

"Weaker vessel, my arse." he murmured to himself.

WILSON

Wilson didn't hesitate. He signed the papers, all four sets, and thrust them back to the lawyers. He didn't look at Julie. She didn't look at him. A year ago at this time they'd discussed having a baby. Had it only been a year ago? Had that been when he started looking again?

Probably.

He nodded at the appropriate times, his mind bent on simply retrieving his things and getting his new townhouse set up. The building wasn't far from House's place. It wasn't far from Cameron's either.

Cameron.

How could House be so stupid, forsaking a woman like her? It wasn't just Stacy's presence. It wasn't just trust issues. What was House afraid of? Life? Love? Romance? Or maybe House wasn't afraid. Maybe he was.

Wilson clenched a fist.

No. No, he refused to believe that. He wasn't afraid.

Not at all.

But honestly, how could House have seriously suggested therapy to him? He didn't need a shrink. House was the one bonking a terminally ill woman, not him.

Wilson squirmed uncomfortably as his own hypocrisy jabbed at his memory.

Okay, well, he HAD made a pass at Anne, true. What if Anne had accepted his date all those years ago? God!

House, as usual, was right. He was an idiot.

Why HAD he asked Anne out all those years ago? Because he thought it wouldn't be a long-term thing, that's why.

Was that why House was seeing her?

Because he wouldn't be expected to love her forever?

The lawyers droned on and on. Wilson nodded or shook his head, as required.

Wilson acknowledged all his marriages unraveled because he kept looking for something else. What? What was he looking for? Something deeper? Something more important? Someone who could maintain his interest, and make every time seem like the first time. He adored the sweet intoxication of new romance, the more illicit the better.

Was it even possible to find a life with whom marriage was an adventure instead of drudgery.

Julie wiped her eyes, weeping about something. The lawyers stared at him expectantly. Wilson hadn't been paying attention.

Story of his life.

FOREMAN

Foreman cracked his spine, pushed away from the computer and took a deep breath. Done. Finally. He took the report back to House's office and found Chase and Cameron deep in discussion about something.

"…like she bloody owned the place."

"Well, he's out of his mind. If Wilson's right about her prognosis – "

"Then that's exactly why House is seeing her." Chase snapped. " She's a dream girl for him. A puzzle, a bed partner and a way to press your emotional buttons all in one petite blonde package."

"A-all I'm saying is –"

"He's not like you, Cameron." Chase continued hotly. "He doesn't care if she actually lives, as long as he understands _why_ she does."

Foreman knew he would regret asking, but he hated being out of the loop. "What's up?"

Chase gulped down the last of his tea. "House is bonking some arrogant bitch who's refusing treatment for a cancerous tumour. Cameron is upset because she's been tossed over for a dying blonde and I'm pissed because there's no proper tea in the kitchen."

"Oh." Foreman bit the inside of his lip to prevent a grin. Cameron looked like she wanted to rake her sharp little nails down Chase's face. "But there's fresh coffee, right?"

Cameron stomped out, her cheeks flaring red.

Chase made a face at her retreating back. "Yes, there's lots of coffee and by the way, I hate coffee. Everyone in the bloody country drinks bloody coffee and you can't get a proper cup of tea for love nor money." Chase flopped into House's chair and picked up the copy of Weekly World News.

"Are you PMSing?"

"And your bloody, pathetic American beer tastes like watery horse piss."

"You've tasted horse piss?"

"Women!" Chase moaned, "What does she see in House? What?"

"Are you saying want to get it on with Cameron?"

"No!" Chase squinted at him angrily. "I just don't understand her. WHY is she tormenting herself about him of ALL people? It makes no sense."

Foreman shrugged. "Love doesn't make any sense."

Chase tossed the news away. "Except she doesn't love him."

It landed at Foreman's feet. Satan's ashy face leered up at him. Foreman picked up the paper and set it back on House's desk. "And how would you know that?"

"Because if she did, she'd be happy for him right now and she's obviously not.. She's acting like someone who's just had her favorite toy taken away."

If Cameron didn't love House then it begged the obvious question. "So what does she want from him?" Foreman put his report next to the newspaper.

"That -" A musical chime danced in the air and Chase pulled out his cell phone, " -is a very interesting issue to contemplate."

HOUSE

She told him to bring a complete change of clothes. Intrigued, he drove where she directed. Left. Straight. Right. Right. First light go left again. He pulled this car into a darkened aquatic recreational complex. The chilled night air now far too cold to ride a motorcycle. He shivered as she unlocked the front door.

"We're not supposed to be here." Anne turned off the alarm system, then flipped the lock back on. "I have a friend who works here."

"All this illicit secrecy? I love it." House's sneakers squeaked against the tile floor. He palmed a Vicodin and swallowed it. "So what's all this about?"

"This way, Greg. Careful where you step. We have to keep the lights off."

With the aid of a flashlight, she led him to the deep, theraputic pool in the back. Steam rolled off the dark blue water. The chemical taint of chlorine scented the air. She pulled thick towels, an MP3 player, yellow glowlights and tiny speakers from her backpack. Soon, the sweet strains of a Strauss waltz filled the air.

"Take off your sneakers."

Wincing in pain, he removed his shoes and then watched in amusement as she entered the pool barefoot, but fully clothed, When the water reached her breasts she stopped and crooked a finger at him. "C'mon."

He obeyed. The soothing water soaked his jeans as he carefully waded in. He sighed as heat eased his leg muscles. As the shimmering blue water reached his mid-chest his body became wonderfully light. Gravity no longer towed at his ravaged leg.

"You once told me you missed dancing more than anything." Anne took his right hand and placed his left on her waist under the bubbling water.

Clever, clever girl, he thought as he kissed her. Her mouth tasted like hot cinnamon gum. The kind with flames on the package. The kind that reminded him those sweet red-hot candy hearts that burned his tongue every Valentine's day.

He felt the soul of his imagination slip head first into the fantasy. Hot water, the taste of cinnamon, a swell of violins, soft unearthly yellow light and the sensation of fearlessness saturated his senses as he held Anne in his arms.

"The truth shall be thy warrant…" 

Music from a dozen eras echoed around them as House danced for the first time in years.

A part of him wanted to weep. He could die now and be content. If only he could get his leg back, his _life_ back.

What would he pay for that? His soul?

But he didn't believe in souls or God, did he?

A moot point. Yes.

A pointless question. No.

No - not a pointless question.

A voice inside him screamed. It sounded like a thousand tiny plastic bottles shattering.

Yes!

Yes, House decided. Yes. For this illusion I would give my very soul.

DEAN

Dr. Keller Dean leaned back in his chair to review the pages upon pages of notes he'd made regarding Dr. House. Most intriguing man, he thought, and took out his highlighter. The bright yellow tip squeaked across several threads he wishes to follow up on.

Origin of Locket? H. constantly fondles it. Poss. unresolved issue? Squeak.

Fear of stalkers? Squeak.

Tension with female subordinate at work – unwanted romance? Squeak.

Parents? Poss. unresolved issues? Still living? Squeak.

Sado-masochistic fantasies? Squeak.

Sexual frustration due to pres. Pain killer. Other side effects? Squeak.

The digital clock on the desk blared bright blood red digits. Dean frowned. It wasn't like House to be late. 5 sessions and he hadn't missed one yet. He rang his assistant.

"Was there a cancellation from Doctor House?"

A pause as she checked the computer. "No sir. He didn't call."

"Ring him. See if he's coming." Dean stood, gazed out the window, waiting. The gray dimness of the late afternoon now darker from the cold, autumn rain. Dean liked talking with House. Amusing man, very troubled - just the sort he enjoyed most. They'd made a breakthrough last session. House had met someone. A woman, but he wouldn't give details. Still, House opened up slightly. It was just a matter of time now.

His intercom chimed at him. "No answer on his cell or his office, sir. Shall I keep trying?"

"No," Dean closed the folder of notes. "He's likely on his way."

House never arrived. Dr. Keller Dean billed him for the booked session anyway. Didn't show? Too bad. Policy.

In the months to follow, the folder of notes never collected dust. Sometimes Dean would open it and ponder its contents. He repeatedly listened to the tapes of their sessions, but he never 'solved' House. Dean desperately desired to dig deep into this man's psyche. There had been something there.

Something deep.

Something important.

The bill was eventually paid, but no further appointments were ever booked.

Dean never met with House again.

END OF PART ONE


	2. Chapter 2

Part two – The Body guest.

CAMERON

Cameron ignored the doorbell. An unopened bag candy lay on the table in the darkened apartment. No tricks tonight. No treats either. She rubbed her damp cheeks on the pillow she'd often clutched to her body in the night, pretending it was him.

"I've been through this. I know what it's like loving some one who can't be –" 

"_It was Wilson who blabbed to you, wasn't it?"_

"_House, please - you're insane to do this. She's dying. You can't just use her for - " _

"You idiot," he snarled. "You're the emotional cripple here, not me. I don't have any illusions about saving her."

"I only want to help y-"

"No, you don't! You don't want to 'help' me and you didn't want to 'help' your dead husband either. I'll bet you think I was being brutally honest with you before when I told you 'You want to fix me'. No – I only said that because you can't take the truth anymore than you can tell people they going to die."

You son of a bitch.

"I was right about the baby, wasn't I?"

Glare at him. Turn away.

"I knew it. Now WHY would you try for a baby with a dying man, huh? Romantics might suggest that you wanted to keep a little piece of him alive so he could live on, right?"

Shut up.

"Except that wasn't why you married him. You weren't trying to save him. You wanted a kid, didn't you?"

Shut the hell up.

"But you lost the kid too. Was it defective? A horrible side effect from Hubby's chemo treatment?"

Stop it, House.

"Why him? Why me? Is it because you don't want just ANY kind of kid?"

SHUT UP, HOUSE!

"No, you don't. You want a clever kid, don't you? No getting knocked up by the gardener for you. No way! You want superior genes, huh Cameron? Breeding with men with high IQs in hopes your baby is the next Einsti-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Foam from the pillow spilled over the bed. Blood under her nails. Tears in her eyes. Denial in her mouth.

Yes. He understood her. Far too well.

CHASE:

Chase placed the heavy bible on the back seat of his car. Somewhere at the party a little 'nun' with plump little legs waited for him. She knew what he liked. He had high expectations for the evening - until his cellphone rang

Cuddy.

Emergency.

"I need every doctor back here now. Some dickhead poisoned a Halloween party punch bowl. All hell is breaking loose. Get over here. No excuses."

Dammit!

Cameron tended vomiting toddlers, her eyes red and swollen. Foreman assisted Cuddy with a panic-stricken, screaming parent. Chase ran a sample of the vomit up to the lab for analysis. He called down to Cuddy with the result.

"They spiked the bowl with syrup of ipecac. Someone's idea of a bad joke, I guess."

"At least it's not arsenic," she growled. Chase heard someone puking violently in the background. "See if you can find House. He's around somewhere."

Right.

Chase checked the usual hidey holes and finally found House in the Chapel with Anne. A plain wooden crucifix dominated the far wall. Candles burned low in their holders. An abandoned bible lay on the floor near their feet.

It was oppressively hot in the tiny room but the same chill he'd experienced before slammed into Chase's body. He fixed his eyes on Anne. Perhaps it was the dim light, but her eyes appeared wholly black. Deep and bottomless as the River Styx on a moonless night. The shadowy black holes stared at him unblinking as the candle flames saturated her face with a hellish hue. For a horrible moment Anne appeared freakishly demonic to Chase.

By contrast House seemed pale, flustered. His cane lay on the floor alongside the battered bible. Chase fought to breathe and in a heartbeat the hellish vision vanished.

After a few seconds, he recalled his original mission. "Cuddy needs you in the clinic."

"Yeah –yeah." House glanced down at the cane, then walked out of the room, his stride steady and unassisted. Chase gaped as he stared at this seeming miracle.

House's limp – gone?

Chase's eyes flashed back to Anne, whose impish face now merely appeared slyly benign and unwholesome. He turned and fled after House, his mind reeling.

It wasn't possible.

FOREMAN

The acrid and nauseating stench of vomit filled the clinic. The janitorial staff, fortified with the Gravols Cameron handed out, busied themselves with the task of cleaning it. Foreman tossed the last file in the out box and took the elevator up to the office to get his coat.

Chase sat at House's desk, pleading into the phone. "I am not making this up! Please Father-"

Forman grabbed his coat but paused to eavesdrop.

"I know this sounds melodramatic. I know it's Halloween, but –NO!"

Cell. Check. Wallet. Check. Foreman looked down at his new white Nikes. A spatter of blackish vomit discolored the left one. Dammit! He pulled on his coat, one ear towards the office.

"It was real, I swear. I AM serious….no, I don't know. Look, I have no idea if she's Catholic. He's atheist, but - "

Pause.

"Right. Yes, father, I know it's late but. No, don't hang up, please! You -"

Chase slammed the phone down. "Stupid bastard!"

"Can I help?" Foreman leaned on the door, concerned by the glossy remains of tears still evident on his colleague's face.

Chase rubbed his eyes dry. "Did you see House tonight?"

"Yeah. In the clinic with the rest of us."

"He wasn't limping." Chase whispered. "Did you notice that?"

Foreman thought back. Chase was right. House hadn't been limping. Had he? That was impossible. No… it had been chaos down there. Fifty puking kids and close to seventy freaking parents.

"Uh…no. I can't…. look, it's late, Chase. It's been a terrible night"

Chase's fingers toyed with the Weekly World News. He traced Satan's face with a long finger, his expression unreadable. "Do you believe in demons?"

Wilson walked in, his eyes scanning the room for House. "Hell of a night, huh? Seen House lately?"

WILSON

Wilson tossed a large tennis ball up in the air. "I thought I noticed him walking more normally," he admitted. "-but, c'mon Chase! What are you implying here? Demonic possession?"

"I never said that." Chase protested. "I – I –"

"It's Halloween." Foreman yawned. "You're just tired. We're all tired."

"Her eyes were completely black. Like tar! She- she-"

Wilson tossed the ball away and collected his jacket. "The chapel is dark, Chase. It was just a trick of the light or something."

"Did you do any –y' know special brownies or anything at that party of yours?" Foreman teased.

"NO!"

Cameron shuffled in to fetch her purse. Wilson noticed she also bagged her mug and a few other personal items she usually kept at work.

Uh oh! "Hey…" He walked over to her. "You okay?"

Cameron's reddened eyes turned away from him. "I'm leaving. For good."

'Again?" Chase said and Foreman smacked him the upside the head.

"OW!"

"Oh - sorry," Foreman glared at him. "My arm slipped."

Wilson pulled Cameron out of the room. "Let's talk –"

CAMERON & WILSON

"Chase thinks what?" Cameron nearly laughed, then she'd remembered House hadn't been using his cane that night. He hadn't been taking the Vicodin, either. Her brow furrowed. "It's not possible, is it?"

"It's weird." Wilson leaned on the railing and gazed over city lights. "His leg couldn't just miraculously heal. Course, I'm questioning my own judgment lately. Anne's tumour I can explain to a point, but I KNOW she should be dead and I KNOW he should be limping."

"Chase loathed Anne right away." Cameron commented. "Even before he saw her in the chapel. She was sitting in House's chair, reeking of Red Door -"

Red Door? Oh my god…" Wilson slammed his hand against the iron bar. "What size are Anne's feet, Cameron?"

"What?"

"Her feet?" Wilson suddenly grasped her shoulders. "Think - it's important."

Cameron shrugged. "Normal – normal feet. I dunno." She recalled Anne's black boots in stride with Greg's sneakers. Smaller. " 7 or 8 maybe. I don't notice things like that."

"Obscene phone calls…"

"What?" Cameron blinked.

"7 ½ red leather shoe…." Wilson opened his mouth to explain, but he struggled for words. "House got these strange calls a few months ago. Heavy breathing obscene calls. I recognized her voice but I couldn't place it."

"I never heard about this." Why hadn't she heard about this?

"She called him for weeks – even sent a parcels with a high heeled shoe. I heard the recordings. Dammit! I knew that I knew her voice."

"So what did he do?"

"He blocked the calls, tossed the package. He was creeped out by it all." Wilson was rambling so fast she could barely understand him. "…then she came to the clinic! I knew her voice. I knew it! It was her voice!"

"Are you certain the caller was Anne?" The whole thing sounded completely insane. House's girlfriend? A demon? An obscene caller? A succubus? A miracle worker?

"Yes. I'm certain." Wilson pulled out his cell. "We have to tell him. He's got to know about this."

"Wilson, wait! What exactly are you going to say to him?"

Wilson's mind rolled around in confusion. Okay, so Cameron did have a point. How did one start THAT conversation? "He'll think I'm completely insane, won't he?"

"Oh yeah."

He closed the cell phone. "I have no idea what we should do."

Cameron slowly ran her hand though her hair, her red-rimmed eyes focused on Wilson's pleasant face. "Let's say Chase is right…" This was an opportunity, she realized. An opportunity she'd dismissed mere months ago, but now circumstances had changed. She made a show of shivering. "Look, it's after midnight and I'm freezing. Let's go back to your place where we can think about this rationally."

CHASE

Chase hesitated, then knocked at House's door.

Nothing. He rang the bell.

Nothing. He rang again.

Nearly three in the morning. Was he mad?

A lamp came on. The door opened. House peered out at him with sleep-crusted eyes. "Aren't you a bit old for trick or treating?" House reached over to a nearby table, then threw a bag of chocolate bars at Chase. "Don't eat them all at once."

House tried to shut the door, but Chase stuck his foot in the jam.

"Where's your cane?"

House blinked, looked down, hands empty except for the one that toyed with a heavy locket that swung from his neck. Chase noticed a bird etched onto it. It swung back and forth, like a hanging corpse.

"House – listen to me."

"It's fucking three in the morning. I wouldn't listen to the Pussy Cats Dolls in frilly panties right now, so go away."

"Who is Anne? Do you really know her? What did she promise you? What did you promise her?" House opened the door, grabbed Chase's arm and sharply twisted it behind his back. Chase gasped in agony but managed to keep talking. "Sold your soul for a few years of mobility, House? Is that it?"

House thrust Chase away, nearly slipped on the bag of candy but recovered gracefully. "Don't you preach to me, you hypocrite."

"Please listen to me. She's evil, she -"

"Evil?" House laughed as he made a perfect pirouette in the doorway. "You think you know pain, Chase. You DON'T! You toy with pain. You play with it. Me? I LIVED WITH IT !"

"She's not human. I don't know what she is but there's this priest I think you need you to talk to…"

A lopsided grin smeared across House's face. "You think the opinion of someone who uses his own pee-pee as a biblical bookmark matters to me?"

Chase blanched. "How did you -?"

"Oh please." House's eyes darted to Chase's groin. " Mister 'I only went to that S&M party to read the articles and I didn't inhale, I swear to God' "

"Look, this isn't about me – " Chase whispered.

"Isn't it? " House's blue eyes deepened into two shadowy pits of hell . "You, Wilson, Cuddy and Cameron all think I'm the one with the big attitude problem. Think again or go to hell

House slammed the door.

Chase felt hot moisture spread down his left trouser leg.

It was three in the morning on Halloween night.

He'd just wet himself.

He was going mad.

FOREMAN and CHASE and CAMERON

Chase blearily shielded his face from the sun's morning rays as he pulled the blinds. "We'd need a priest, but not just any priest. The kind that specialize in possession by demons. But you can't find these guys in the yellow pages. A priest must first assess the situation and we don't have time for that."

"I cannot believe we are having this conversation." Foreman added extra coffee to the filter.

Cameron yawned and crossed her legs. She wished she'd taken the time to change her clothes. It had been far easier than she'd hoped and very quick. She kept her hand over her mouth to cover the smile that followed the yawn. She was due for her period next week unless nature took it's course. He wanted to use a condom, but she'd pretended to be to be impatient, implied she was on the pill. He grasped that proclamation along with her panties and had his way.

Her cell rang but he didn't wake. Chase. Forman. Something important.

She slipped out of the room, untangling her clothes as she went.

The salty scent of his passion saturated the V of her slacks. She could smell him on herself and wondered if Foreman and Chase did as well.

Chase unshaven, appeared haggard and old before his time. "It's not an exorcism we need exactly. I don't know what to call it. I'm out of my depth here."

Foreman passed a hot coffee over to Cameron and repeated, "I cannot believe we are having this conversation."

Cameron cleared her throat. She would tell them about what Wilson said about the obscene phone calls and then she would go home and put on some clean panties.

End of Part Two


	3. Chapter 3

Part three – The Body's Guest.

HOUSE AND CUDDY

"Vacation? Now?" Cuddy flipped through a schedule. "I know you're overdue but-"

"Vacation pay is cheaper than therapy, and definitely more fun." House leaned on his cane. His paunchy eyes reflected lost sleep. "Call it stress leave, if you have to, but I need some time off."

"Your timing sucks, House."

"So does my bedside manner." The door opened behind him and Stacy strode in. "Ah, cheese it. The cups."

Stacy exchanged a glance with Cuddy. Her eyes flicked to House's cane with a confused frown. "I heard the oddest story from Chase this morning."

"He was pounding on my door at 3 am this morning." House yawned and leaned on his cane more heavily.

Cuddy blinked. "He what? Why?"

"He was either strung out on something or having a hypnagogic hallucination. I'm favoring drugs though. His eyes were so dilated I could brush my teeth in their reflection. Raving about all sorts of crazy shit. I had to throw him out." House turned to Stacy, a wry smile on his stubbled face. "I hope he's not claiming I gave him a hickey."

Stacy toyed with a thick file in her hand. "You think he's on drugs?"

House shrugged. "He'd been at some party Halloween night, before he showed up here. Maybe someone slipped him something. I dunno."

Cuddy cleared her throat. "We …er - could do a drug test."

House peered at Cuddy. "That's a bit extreme - even for you." He shook a Vicodin out of the bottle, popped it in his mouth, swallowed and turned his attention back to Stacy. "What's this about an odd story?"

"House is taking a vacation." Cuddy made a hasty signature on a form and handed it to House, "He's due for nearly 6 weeks. Legally, I can't refuse, right?"

Stacy nodded, eager to divert the subject from Chase. "It's use it or lose it."

"Fine. Then I'm using it." House snatched the form away from Cuddy and lurched over to the door. "As of tomorrow, Foreman's in charge of any extreme cases. Otherwise put them to work in the clinic." He glanced back; gratified to notice they both seemed very uncomfortable. "Oh… is Wilson's divorce final yet?"

"Yes." Stacy fidgeted.

House pointed his cane at Cuddy. "I'd recommend saltpeter for at least 4 months. You know what he's like after one of his marriages ends. Chronic satyriasis. Tell him it's a mineral supplement and blame me if he finds out. You and every female in the state can thank me later."

He ambled off, with a saucy, if weary, smile.

"I hate Halloween." Stacy tossed the file in the trash, then flopped into a chair.

Cuddy's nails rasped across the piles of paperwork on her desk. "Can we give Chase a drug test, but keep it on the QT?"

"Legally?" Stacy considered. "Not really."

"What if House is right and he was 'Mickey Finned'? A positive result wouldn't reflect on his record."

Stacy thought for a moment. "I can work with that."

FOREMAN AND STACY

Chase slumped over the table, head resting heavily on his forearms, a soft, moist snore bubbling from his mouth, his blond hair limp and greasy over his haggard face.

Foreman gently covered him with his coat. Cameron had left an hour ago. She hadn't given much weight to Chase's allegations, although it sounded as if Wilson had issues with Anne as well. Stacy entered the boardroom, a security officer hovering near the entrance. Foreman put a finger to his lips.

"I just got him to sleep," he whispered.

"We have to talk." Stacy mouthed and pulled Foreman into House's office. She leaned against House's desk and pulled out a urine cup. "We need to perform a drug test on Dr. Chase."

"You're serious."

"House claims Chase was at his home at 3 am this morning, raving."

Foreman groaned inwardly. "Chase told me that too. He's convinced House sold his soul or some damn thing."

Stacy gawked. "Sold his soul for what?"

If Foreman could have blushed, he would have. "Did you see House this morning? Was he limping? Did he have his cane?"

"Limping? Of course he was limping."

"Did you see him take Vicodin?" Foreman pressed.

"Yes. Two, at least. Why?"

Foreman kicked himself. Chase had him half convinced House hadn't been limping the other night. He reached over and took the urine cup from Stacy. "I'll see Chase provides a sample."

"Thanks, Eric." Stacy waved the security officer away. "If he's positive, House thinks it might be something he ingested at some party Halloween night."

"And if he's clean?" Foreman asked. If not drugs, then what? Stress? A mental breakdown with religious overtones?

Stacy's expression revealed she had not given that option much consideration. "If he's clean, then we have a problem."

He glanced back at Chase, worried. "House will probably want a brain scan."

"House won't be here. You're in charge of this department until he comes back."

Forman felt both pleased and shaken by that pronouncement. "Back from where?"

"Holiday." Stacy shrugged. "He's taking his new girlfriend somewhere warm."

HOUSE AND CAMERON

The woman lay in the hospital bed, clearly livid with Cameron. House poked his head in. He already knew the particulars. After three misdiagnoses by her family doctor, including 'early menopause', the team had found her problem. Advanced cancer of the uterus. House had instructed Cameron to give her the bad news. Three months to live. Tops. No hope. None.

Cameron waffled, of course. There were new treatments. Never give up, etc., etc.

The patient waved House over with a grimace. "Shirley Temple here says with treatment my chances double, but I ain't buying it. What's the straight dope, doc?"

House took a deep breath. "Even with treatment you only have a 5 chance of being able to live independently and pain free for more than – " he shrugged genially – "three months. You could live for 6 months, but most of those would be in hospital and you'd be drooling."

The patient glared at Cameron, who was staring at House's cane, puzzled. She turned back to the woman with a start. "There are some new drugs-" she began.

"Forget it, girlie!" The woman turned to House. "Can ya gimme something for the pain? I need to function so I can make arrangements for my boy."

House shook his bottle of Vicodon at her. "I recommend this stuff. I use it myself."

"Huh," she grunted. "What for?"

"A really big pain in the ass." House gestured at Cameron and the patient guffawed loudly.

Cameron pleaded, "Dr. House, with experimental treatment she could -"

"No." The woman made a cutting motion with her hand. " I ain't got insurance and no savings, except for my boy's college fund and I ain't wasting that on prolonging my death. I'm leaving now. I'll take those pain pills, Doc."

"You got it." House winked at her. "Cameron, take care of her release. Allow for 3 months of refills and refer her to a hospice for palliative care. She needs to get on a waiting list for a bed now."

"Thanks doc." The woman pulled the monitor off her finger. "I'd rather have the worse case scenario and not have false hope, y'know."

Cameron bristled, "But she could still try – "

House's eyes narrowed at Cameron. Outside a cloud obscured the sun and the room darkened ominously.

"Yes, Doctor House," Cameron finished weakly.

WILSON AND HOUSE

"Triple my refill. I'm going on vacation."

Wilson nodded his approval at the pharmacist. As Vicodin was counted out for Dr. House, Wilson leaned over to House and whispered in his ear.

"Oh crap." House closed his eyes in despair. "I'll cancel your prescription for saltpeter, then."

"I thought you'd be happy." Wilson made a helpless motion. "If nothing else I got her off your case."

House took the bottles from the counter and pulled Wilson into the men's room. "Are you completely out of your mind? Oh, sorry – that's Chase. You must be STUPID!"

"House…"

"She's trying for a baby!" House hissed. "So, _please_ tell me you wrapped your little rascal."

"She's on the pill." Wilson protested.

"Not according to her file," House stressed. "which I make a point of snooping through regularly."

"She told me..." Wilson's voice weakened and trailed away.

House's lip curled. "Implant or pills?"

Wilson groped for a memory and didn't find it. "Pills?"

"I snooped in her purse just last week. No pills. I've seen her in a tank top. No implant. She lied to you."

"Why would she lie?" Wilson leaned over the sink. _Don't puke. Don't puke._

"Everyone lies." House stuffed a Vicodin in his mouth. "The real question is 'Why did _you_ sleep with Miss Emotional Mess of 2005?' "

"She's hot."

"True." House conceded, "but she's also grasping, weak and immature, and hey! she's knows when a guy is vulnerable."

"House, I…"

"You never listen to me. How many times have I recommended Top Class Escorts? Renting is WAY better than owning."

"Is that why you're screwing Anne?" Wilson lurched up and faced him. "Because she's not going to be around long enough to expect a long term commitment?" He desperately wanted tell House he finally recognized her voice from those mysterious erotic phone calls he'd received, but the drugging of Chase changed everything. Chase obviously had been seeing things, and if House liked Anne, what harm were a few kinky calls?

No. This was important. House should be told. Wilson opened his mouth to explain about the calls but suddenly the fluorescent light suddenly buzzed loudly and flickered.

Wilson flinched. House did not react.

"I'm taking the next month off." House paced awkwardly past the urinals. "I'm going to show Anne a really good time. I can live a lifetime in a month and I intend to. I'm not going to be around for a while, so either dump Cameron or get a vasectomy, but don't get roped into a family you don't really want."

"I can't stand being alone." Wilson confessed. " – and Cam is fantastic in the sack."

"You can't stand not being in love." House corrected him. "And she's new territory. Look, schedule a VAS, make sure it takes and make sure she knows. Five'll get you ten she'll go bonk someone else if she knows you're shooting blanks."

Wilson paced, his thoughts in turmoil. Chase drugged? Cameron lying? House leaving? "S- she's not on the pill? You're sure about that?"

Greg's wooden cane thumped repeatedly on the tile, like a heartbeat. Wilson wondered, briefly, what happened to the other one.

"She lied." House finally answered him. "I'll stake my soul on it."

FOREMAN AND HOUSE:

House answered the last of his email and wrote down a few notes as Foreman pulled off his lab coat. House looked up and snickered at Foreman's shirt.

"What." Foreman mentally kicked himself for reacting. He was looking forward to six entire weeks without House's sarcasm. What could be more blissful?

"Argyle?"

"It's cool." Foreman puffed up. "Hey, I know cool. You're white. You don't know from cool."

"Argyle polo shirts are not, and never shall be, cool." House pocketed his Vicodin and his IPod. "I don't care if the Black Eyed Peas, Snoop Dog or Dave Chappell's drug dealer endorse the Preppy look, it will never be cool. Ever."

"Snoop Dog can make anything cool and dammit, I _like_ Argyle."

"Pathetic." House passed the keys to the office over to an affronted Foreman. "Dress like Mr Rogers if you think it'll get you some 'tang, which I doubt, just make sure Chase seeks help and Cameron doesn't get knocked up."

"Chase's test came back positive. A blend of several hallucinogens."

"Did you check his hair for long term use?"

"It was a one time thing. Probably got spiked him at the party, just like you thought."

"Mmm. Where is Chase now?"

"We're holding him overnight. Lots of fluids and sleep. He's embarrassed as hell."

House grunted. "Clean up his blood, then encourage him to call the police to see if anyone else was drugged. Make him take a few days off. He'll be fine."

"Halloween sucks." Foreman rattled the keys appreciatively as House limped away. "Every year it gets worse. Hey… isn't that your old cane?"

"Yeah. The other got puked on last night. It's at the cleaners."

So much for Chase's deal with the devil theory, thought Foreman. "Any other instructions for Chase?"

"Smooch the little minx goodnight for me." House puckered at Foreman. "I am so gonna milk this for laughs later."

CAMERON

"So you didn't tell House about Anne being his mysterious caller?"

"I didn't see the point." Wilson pulled up in front of her place. "The calls were harmless enough and I didn't want to feed Chase's delusion."

"Someone vomited on his cane?"

"So he told me. I guess that's what Chase focused on. Funny how the human mind works." Wilson glanced at her sideways.

She lingered next to him. "Coming up?" Her invitation had the opposite effect. Wilson fidgeted.

"I still have loads of unpacking to do, and a conference to prepare for. Rain check?"

"Oh -" She pulled a casual smile from the depths. "Of course, …another time then."

Cameron got out and sullenly watched his car drive away.

So.

He hadn't told House about Anne's dirty calls, but he'd spent half the afternoon yakking in the john with House. Chase's case was Foreman's from the start, so that left one topic. Her.

"Bastards!" she hissed and stomped up to her apartment. She pulled off her clothes to take a shower. A familiar ruddy stain on her underwear induced a prolonged weeping jag.

Well.

Perfect end to a perfect day.

HOUSE AND ANNE

The cane and the pill bottle lay abandoned near the door. Grunts of primal pleasure emitted from the living room. Sweat-shrouded bodies glistened in the dim light of a toppled lamp. The stereo pounded a throbbing, bluesy beat and the rumbling vocals of Joe Cocker filled the room.

'You can leave your hat on…' 

Her back pinned to the wall, head raised, throat exposed to his hungry mouth, long legs wrapped about his hips.

Uhgnnh!

The weight of her made him thrust deep. The wall shook.

Uhgnnh!

His hands squeezed her wrists tight above her head.

Uggnnh!

Perfumed hair flowed over creamy shoulders down to stiff, pink nipples.

Ughnnh!

The salty taste of her skin.

Uhnngh!

Her candy-red mouth.

Uhnngh!

Her hungry eyes begging – begging - begging-

Uuuuuuhnnnngh!

"OH! Oooooooh, Greeeeeeeeg - I'm coming-"

'You can leave your hat on…' 

A low, guttural moan issued from his mouth as he clutched her body to him. He pushed up one long last time into her hot flesh.

Uhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngh!

"Mmm…"

As he panted, semen trickled down his good leg and pooled between his toes. A memory stirred. _Greeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeg. _Somewhere in the mists of the past, Mozart and Vivaldi played. Something important? Anne sighed and showered him with a multitude of fragrant cinnamon kisses.

'You can leave your hat on…' 

Well. It didn't matter now.

Did it?

CHASE

It was past midnight. Nurses flitted about the corridor. He could see them move through the cracks in the blinds. Chase scratched at the growing stubble on his face. Foreman assured him he'd let him go home in the morning.

He'd dutifully peed in the cup, not surprised at either the request or that the result came back positive. House probably tampered with it.

Chase ground his teeth in frustration. He knew he hadn't been drugged. He hadn't a chance to eat or drink anything at that party. At least he'd had the presence of mind to pretend he had. He sighed and fussed with the IV. If he tried to keep telling the truth his colleagues would think him insane.

House played it perfectly, of course. The arrogant bastard returned, affected a limp, faked ignorance about the chapel, arranged a sudden vacation, then suggested young Dr. Chase been drug-addled.

If only he hadn't admitted to Foreman about going to House's apartment.

When Cam mentioned Wilson's story about the obscene phone calls, he felt completely vindicated in his suspicions. He intended to question Wilson at first opportunity, but never had the chance.

He recalled demanding if Stacy and Cuddy noticed House's missing cane the night before. They hadn't. It didn't matter. Once House showed up, walking normally, forgoing Vicodin, his fears would be confirmed. Except House limped in, demanding his prescription refill, as usual. Then the drug test came back positive and House lied about the cane. He'd heard House taking as he passed his room the hallway, _"If I take triple doses of Vicodin, I can walk on water. Bit hard on the liver though." _

So.

Nobody believed him.

Even Cameron who admitted seeing House walk without his cane.

Bastard. Always three steps ahead.

No mean feat for a cripple.

To be continued… 


	4. Chapter 4

The Body's Guest - Part Four

FOREMAN AND CUDDY

Foreman made a silent grateful prayer that it had been a textbook sort of day, and pulled out the office keys. Time to lock up. It wouldn't do for House to return and find half his toys missing. Already, the staff was decimated. No House. No Chase.

And Cameron! Well, she was less than useless. House hadn't been gone half a day before Dr. Cuddy noticed her long vacant stares and immediately put her on clinic duty. "Do you need House shouting at you to stay focused? Clinic duty, Dr. Cameron. Go!"

So after only eight hours in charge, Foreman was boss of no one but himself. A hollow promotion, really, unless someone seriously needed an investigative diagnosis. Annoyed, he gazed around the silent office. It shouldn't be possible that he could miss House so quickly.

There was a polite knock at the door. Dr. Cuddy. She wore one of her trademark frilly, low slung tops. Foreman idly wondered if the pink thong lurked underneath her snug skirt.

"Since it's so quiet, you could lecture." Cuddy handed him a file. "Discuss some of your more interesting cases from the past year. The students need a new perspective."

Foreman brightened. "I'd like that."

Cuddy looked at her watch. "I'm going to go out for a steak. Why don't you join me?"

Foreman covered his surprise at the offer and pretended intense interest in the lecture file. _Dinner? With the head of the hospital? Is that ethical? No? Never mind. Accept! _

"I'd like that too," he put down the file and reached for his coat.

LATER

"They serve great prime rib here." Cuddy waved at the hostess. "Two please. Non-smoking."

The steak house smelled of fresh garlic, seared meat and fresh bread. His stomach loudly growled in response. "I'm starved. Missed lunch today." Foreman said in apology. "House's filing system is a bit rough."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "House has a filing system?"

"Exactly."

"Isn't he the ultimate paradox?" Cuddy followed the hostess to their table. "I loathe him, but I miss him already."

"I was thinking that earlier." Foreman laughed. "How does he do it?"

"I don't know. I'd pay to know." Cuddy settled into a plush seat, grabbed a menu and smiled at the hovering waitress. "Beefeaters gin and tonic, please.

"Rye and ginger. No ice." He really wanted a beer but he didn't want the effervescent side effects. He scanned the menu and decided right away. A 20 oz prime rib. He glanced up at Cuddy. She was staring at him, a Cheshire cat grin on her face.

She looked hungry too.

LATER AGAIN

"So." Her hands busy with a sugar packet, her dark eyes locked onto her spoon, she stirred vigorously. "You like playing doctor?"

Cuddy's foot lightly slipped up his pant leg and teased his ankle. Foreman's fork stopped in mid-air. Sweet, dark chocolate dripped back onto his dessert and mingled with pale whipped cream. _Don't stammer. Play it cool. What would Will Smith do?_

"Depends."

Cuddy's eyes flicked up to him. Nervous. Excited. Smoldering. "Depends on what?"

Foreman licked the dripping chocolate from his fork, formulating an answer. "Is this doctor gonna be in the game or kept on the side lines?"

Cuddy winced. "I hate football analogies."

Foreman set the fork down. "I just want it straight. Are you looking for something serious or just a bit on the side?"

"Something in-between, I suppose." Her probing toes rested on top of his sneaker. "Say, exclusive without being clingy."

"Discretion, I imagine, is going to be an issue." Did Cuddy expect him to be her dirty little secret?

Her eyebrows went up. "I wouldn't have brought you here if I wanted to sneak around. We've already been spotted by the gynecology department, Dr. Wilson and a girl from accounting."

Foreman relaxed and calmly patted his mouth with a linen napkin. "In that case, my dear Dr. Cuddy, I am willing to negotiate terms."

"And what, my dear Dr. Foreman, are your demands?" Her eyes fluttered expectantly as her toes resumed stroking his leg.

HOUSE and ISA

House heard Isa let herself in, heavy bags of groceries in her hands. He threw on a robe.

He explained his plans for the next few weeks, wrote out a cheque for her wages, and arranged for her come in to keep an eye on things for him.

"Where are you going?" She pocketed the check, then started to put food away.

"South Florida."

"Um…" Isa paused. "It's hurricane season, isn't it?"

House picked a new magazine from the pile she'd brought in and strode lightly over to the bathroom. "Then the surfing should be grand."

"Hey…" Isa frowned. "Where's your cane?"

"We're vacationing separately."

Funny how easily one could outrageously lie to one's friends and colleagues, but not to one's housekeeper.

CAMERON

The bushy fake palm hid her from view. She needed a break from the clinic. She needed to think, to salvage her course of action. On a blank sheet of paper, She did the math. She would be at her most fertile in two weeks. Time enough to figure a way to get James back in her bed.

It was quiet now. Lunch hour was over, just Debbie from accounting doing her nails while yapping to Gloria from administration.

"No, it was just dinner. He was a perfect gentleman."

Gloria sighed. "Deb, he's been divorced how many times?"

"Two or three." Deb admitted. "His first was common law, does that count?"

"He's a nympho!" Gloria huffed. "They lock up those animals in the basement just to keep them safe, y'know."

"Dr. Wilson isn't THAT bad."

Cameron's ears perked up.

"Tell me you aren't going to see him again."

"I am. He's taking me to a concert this weekend."

Gloria noisily sucked the last drops from her cup. "Don't sleep with him, is all I'm saying. Even doctors get STDs."

"Oh, that's a romantic thought." Chairs scraped harshly, followed by the click-click-click of 'not sensible' heels.

Cameron silently crushed the paper in her fist.

HOUSE and ANNE

He lounged on the quilt, the phone receiver tight in his hand. "Keep it simple. The 'Vette doesn't have a lot of trunk space."

"Can it manage my guitar?"

House considered. "A ukulele would be better."

"Uh huh. Meaning the trunk's already at capacity with your golf clubs, isn't it?"

"You know me all too well."

Three days to drive down to Delray. He would pay bills online, then gas up the car and pick her up first thing in the morning. House scratched his groin. His hand lingered on his scar. Deep. Hideous.

Healing.

The sunken, puckered wasteland of his leg was filling out. Muscle was regenerating. It tingled, tickled and teased him. Soon it would be whole.

"Are we going to swim in the ocean?"

"You bet." House contentedly stroked the disappearing scar tissue. "I know a great place to rent boards, and there's a wreck we can dive near Delray …" He sat up and the locket thumped against his chest. He grasped it with his free hand, the deep etching of the Albatross under his thumb.

"…_your arrogance can kill people as well as save them."_

"Greg?"

Her voice. He needed to remember.

"Before you take me on this trip, I should tell you something."

He heard Mozart play in the background. Mona Sleeza!

"A few months ago I used to call you… at night… remember?"

"That was you? The moaning, the panting, the – the - " His voice lowered to a husky whisper, "… Mouret fanfare?"

Her breathy voice slithered over the phone. "Ooooooh, yessss."

"Oh…" House leaned back, relaxed and began to stroke something else. "You naughty, naughty girl."

CHASE

The church pews were peppered with parishioners in prayer. Chase crossed himself before the altar, stopped by the rack of flickering candles and lit two. A group of people huddled by the confessional, waiting for absolution. Three old women, a couple of youths and weathered man grasping a battered felt hat.

Chase picked a dark corner, prayed and waited. The memory of Anne's demonic face haunted him. House's tirade taunted him. _"You think you know pain, Chase. You DON'T! You toy with pain. You play with it. Me? I LIVED WITH IT !"_

His fevered mind latched onto that one word.

Lived. LIVED. Past tense. As in, not living in pain presently.

"Dr. Chase."

A coaxing voice. Female. Unfamiliar. He turned. Even in the dim interior of the church the woman's eyes glowed with a hot-blue cold. She seemed to radiate both rage and judgment. Her intense smile put him in him mind of a shark cruising blood-filled water.

"Do I know you?" Chase edged away from the strange woman.

She sat in the pew behind him and began to thumb though a bible. "Let's discuss Dr. House."

FOREMAN

The thong hadn't been the pink one. It had been sheer, black and sweetly moist with her need. Foreman felt his body stiffen again at the memory and he moaned.

Damn! _How_ had she DONE that?

Three times she brought him to unimaginable heights with that sweet move she did with her thumb. Nobody had ever done anything like that to him before.

Older chicks. Who knew?

A promise for another dinner. "I know this great seafood place. Oysters…." Her low, husky laugh. Her tongue back in his mouth. Her mouth on his belly. Then lower. Lower again.

"Woman, are you trying to kill me?" Oh my…

"Mmmmm."

"I won't be able to walk," he protested feebly.

She came up for air. "You can lecture sitting down."

As she expertly practiced that wild thing _again_ with her thumb and her tongue, his excitement swelled once more. _It just wasn't possible. _Waves of pleasure surged through him. Even his toes throbbed in ecstacy. Foreman arched, gasped loudly then sagged back down.

Cuddy leaned over his limp form and bestowed a long lingering kiss on his satisfied lips. He could barely move. His lowers still tingled pleasantly. _How did she do that?_

Cuddy sighed; a confident expression saturated her lips. "Welcome to the wonderful world of male multiple orgasm. Dr. Foreman."

White chicks. Who knew?

"Stay…" he pleaded.

"Nuh-uh. Board meeting tomorrow. Have to look a bit more conservative."

"Mmmm."

"Don't be late for work." Cuddy slipped on her heels. "Unless you expect disciplinary action, Dr. Foreman."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Foreman breathed. "I'm planning on staying on your good side."

"See you later."

The door closed and locked automatically behind her. The pillows still held a faintly perfumed scent. Her shampoo? He drew one into his arms and breathed her in.

Uptight, administrative, mature, white chicks into argyle. Who knew?

Foreman laughed to himself.

Snoop Dog. That's who.

HOUSE and CAMERON

"It was none of your damn business."

"You lied to him. I told the truth."

House wore a long, loose Japanese robe. Wisps of pale chest hair hugged a large, platinum locket that hung from a chain around his neck.

Probably a gift from his stupid girlfriend, Cameron thought.

House lit a thin cigar. The stinking fumes enveloped him like a gray shroud. "He's my friend. He's always an emotional wreck after a divorce. The last thing he needs is you using him as a sperm bank, guilting him into child support you don't need and making his life more pathetic than it already is." House meandered to the living room and tossed the lighter on a table.

"Look, you son of a –" Her fury trailed away. House _wasn't_ using his cane. He walked normally. The hell?

"Something on your mind, Dr. Cameron?" His stubbled mouth twisted with delight.

"You can walk?" she whispered.

"Me? Walk? Impossible." House puffed at the cigar, and produced a perfect smoke ring. "You must be seeing things." He flicked ash into a dirty china dish. His voice chilled her very skin. "Just like Chase."

This just wasn't possible. Cameron shivered. She thought she'd seen him walking without the cane, but dismissed it. Chase's ravings about demons had been drug induced. Hadn't they? What had he said?_ "It's not an exorcism we need exactly. I don't know what to call it. I'm out of my depth here."_

"How badly do you want a baby, Dr. Cameron?" Puff.

His eyes pieced the sudden gloom, the baby blue shade replaced by matt-black tar pits that promised her anything. Her deepest, darkest desire now found itself mired within those hellish orbs.

"A perfect baby? A brilliant baby?" Flick.

"No…"She backed away from those dark, sinister eyes.

"Oh yes. Enough to lie for, Dr Cameron?" Puff. "Enough to kill for?" Puff.

She turned and fled to the door. The knob was slick. She couldn't get a grip. It wouldn't open.

Flick. "How badly?"

Cameron gasped as a child appeared in her arms. She looked down. A toddler with thick blonde curls, a boy with bright, impossibly intelligent blue eyes. A thick adult level book in his chubby hands. His bow mouth smiled up at her. That new baby smell – like innocence wrapped in salvation.

"_How badly do you want a baby, Dr. Cameron?"_

The vision faded. She fell before the door. _God! Oh GOD! _

Tears streamed down her face. One empty hand scraped at the wall. _Oh God, help me!_

House lightly stepped over her outstretched legs. He pulled her trembling hand away, grasped the knob and turned it easily. "I can deliver exactly what you want. Give it some thought." He loomed over her and regarded the glowing stub of his cigar - as if it held answers to all the questions of the ages.

"Please…" Was that whimper really her voice?

"Get up. Get out." House prodded her with his foot. "I have to pack."

Unsteadily, Cameron got to her feet. It was difficult to walk. Even harder to think.

His icy voice pierced her heart. "And just to be clear, you wouldn't get child support from me. After all, you still have that big, fat insurance payment from your poor, dead husband, right?"

She whimpered again.

"So that's non-negotiable. Now beat it."

"_How badly do you want a baby, Dr. Cameron?"_ The vision of that beautiful child had been burned into her soul. She longed for that innocence smile with every beat of her heart.

"_..do you want a baby, Dr. Cameron?"_

"Not possible…"

"_How badly?"_

As House leaned against the front door, his robe fell open. Her eyes fearfully widened at his visibly regenerating leg and the ample, hard evidence that House _could_ deliver. His teeth bared in a feral smirk. "I'll be back in a month or so."

Puff.

"Think about it."

Flick.

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

The Body's Guest - Part Five CAMERON 

A dank cold settled over the dark streets. Dazed, Cameron treaded to her car. A church bell rang in the distance. Was it only 10 o'clock? Had it only been fifteen minutes? It seemed far more time had slipped by. Had she not just been to hell and back? Had not weeks of her life passed, not mere minutes?

_House isn't human anymore._

Where could she go?

What could she do?

She sat in the driver's seat; the keys warm in her trembling hands. The windows steamed up from her breath and body heat. She could go to Wilson. Tell him everything.

No. He would think her as loony as Chase. She didn't want to have to pee in a cup too.

_House isn't human anymore._

Chase?

She could go to Chase. He would understand. He could help her. He knew people in the church. They would listen. They would know what to do. She stuck the key in the ignition, but did not turn it.

"How badly do you want a baby, Dr. Cameron?" she whispered to herself.

_Thick blonde curls - bright, intelligent blue eyes - bow mouth - that new baby smell – like innocence wrapped in -_

Salvation.

Chilled, she turned the key. The car pulled out onto the street.

_You still have that big, fat insurance payment from your poor, dead husband, right?" _

How did he do that? KNOW things that he should not – could not know?

_Because House isn't human anymore._

Her husband didn't want to die alone and she stayed with him. She wanted a child. A legitimate child. He tried to give her that, even taking out extra insurance for them both after he died. He would never see their baby, and for that she was grateful.

It arrived two months after his death. Perfect on the outside. Twisted and ruined within. It whimpered, refused to feed and lived only a few days after birth. Side effects traced back to the father's treatment. She buried them side-by-side. Months later the insurance company sent a large cheque. She stuck it in a blue chip mutual fund, and then desperately looked for work to keep her mind occupied.

House hired her because she was a puzzle for him. This made her vulnerable. He bared her soul.

_House isn't human anymore._

**WILSON**

Wilson picked up the phone. "Dr. Louis Sullivan, please… .SULLY! It's Wilson… Afraid not…. No…. All business… Yeah, I'm going to the conference. I'm speaking Saturday actually."

He glanced around to make certain no one was hovering outside his door.

"No, nothing like that. Julie and I, well… it didn't work out."

Wilson tapped a file with a well-chewed pen. House, if he'd been here, would have made a lewd comment about Wilson's oral fixations.

"Thanks buddy. I appreciate that. Look, the reason I'm calling… well – you still do vasectomies, right? The page of his day planner duly filled with notations.

"Eh? Yeah! I heard about that." He winced in sympathy. "_Three_ times? God, I've heard of such cases but I didn't know that – aiee! I should have Cuddy book you in for a lecture."

He saw Cuddy outside his door. She waved at him.

"No, Sully, I'm absolutely sure about this. Okay. See you in a couple of weeks. Thanks for helping me out here."

Cuddy pointed at her watch. "Board meeting," she mouthed through the glass.

Wilson gave her a vibrant 'thumbs up' and she strode away. "Sure Sully, any time you want me to kick your ass at racquet ball, just give me a call – well, except for the day after the operation." He affected a laugh.

**CAMERON**

Cameron pressed her lips tight together in irritation. Both Foreman and Cuddy kept a close eye on her. She attended clinic patients as unemotionally and efficiently as she could. That was easier than usual. She felt as numb as a corpse.

Not in her wildest imagination could she reconcile logic to what she knew she saw the night before. House, his eyes empty and cavernous, his leg nearly whole as he cruelly promised her heart's desire.

"_I'll be back in a month or so." _

"_Think about it."_

The clock crawled. She ate lunch alone behind her palm, thinking of baby blue eyes, salvation and souls.

_Act normally. Just keep it together…_

When five o'clock finally crept into existence, she trudged up to the office to fetch her purse.

_Go home. Think about it._

Foreman and Cuddy in a huddle, whispered about something.

_Go to Chase._

She didn't care. She was too full of her own secrets to make room for anyone else's.

_Oh God, give me a sign. Tell me what to do!_

Foreman coughed. "Dr. Cameron?"

She affected a bright smile and faced him. "Dr. Foreman."

"I need you to talk to Dr. Chase about something."

Cameron's eyes darted to Cuddy. Cuddy stood stiffly, her arms crossed.

"What about?"

Foreman handed her a sheet. It was an obit for a little girl. Chase's brave, little kiss-stealer had made it to her tenth birthday, and then suddenly died in her bed at home.

"Her funeral is in two days. Don't let him read about it in the paper."

Cameron nodded in understanding. They were testing her, making her do this, because she hated being the bearer of bad tidings.

"I'll go tell him now."

"Thank you, Dr. Cameron." Cuddy seemed oddly satisfied.

Bitch, Cameron thought.

In the parking lot, Cameron fumbled with her keys. She could call Chase on the phone. Get the bad news over with, and not mention House at all. She started in fear as thunder loudly rumbled across the sky. Apprehension filled her and then ebbed away. No lightning appeared in the rolling clouds above.

She didn't want to talk to Chase. She didn't want to talk about death and souls or admit she wanted to drive until she found House and scream one word. 'Yes!'

Once more, thunder roared above her.

"Thanks Lord," she pulled open the car door. "That's real subtle."

LATER

Through the pouring rain, she noticed a blue light in Chase's apartment. It flickered. A television probably. She forced herself out of the car and ran through the rain. Each step to his door was a knife in her heart.

"_A perfect baby? _Step.

"_A brilliant baby?" _ Step.

"I'll be back in a month or so." Step.

"_Think about it." _

Stop.

A tiny, perfect boy stood before her. He gazed up at her with pleading eyes.

_Mommy?_

**FOREMAN**

To Foreman, the scent of lobster was a sort of intoxicating liqueur, the succulent finale of a meal nearly obscene in both price and sexual undertones. A bucket of mussels, thick hot chowder, and steamy buns slathered with whipped butter provided filling foreplay, but his need was for that red-hot lobster. It was a compulsive and violent act of sheer appetite. Poking into crevices for the pale bits of flesh, dipping them into liquid gold and lovingly tonguing every last molecule of flavor.

The restaurant she'd taken him to, situated in Cape Cod, near her family farm on the coast was considered legendary. Even in November you had to wait for a seat. Foreman had never been to Cape Cod before. Getting lost would not be difficult. Everything looked the same. He often shook his head in amazement. Conformity, he decided, must be considered high art in Cape Cod. Even the hardware store was done up in a similar style to the houses, only an ornate wooden sign hung outside to announce it was a business, not a home.

'_No tacky glowing signs allowed on pain of social bureaucratic death'_, or so Cuddy explained.

They walked hand in hand along the roads, pausing at historic graveyards filled with whalers and their kin. Along the roads vines and trees competed for sunlight, still heavy with unpicked fruits. He felt keenly out of place but everyone was very friendly. He found that annoying. To make matters worse, on the way to the restaurant they passed an old white guy wearing an argyle sweater almost identical to his own. Foreman grimaced and zipped up his jacket.

Why was House always right, even about fashion? How could he be right about clothes of all things? The man usually dressed like a dingy second-hand shop had fallen on him.

Dammit!

**CHASE**

He peered through the window. She was standing on his front step, looking into space, tears hovering in the red-rimmed corners of her staring eyes. She seemed haunted, torn, terrified, haggard. It was a look he had seen on his own face, reflected in glass on Halloween night. He opened the door. She did not move. She stared down, her hand outstretched as if she held it out to a child.

"Dr. Cameron?"

"He promised…" she whispered.

Chase strode over and waved a hand in front of her face. She did not flinch. "Dr. Cameron?"

She looked up, but not in his direction. She looked south. Her lips moved in silence. Chase drew his hand back and slapped her face. Cameron did not react and in desperation Chase grasped her face in both hands and made her look at him.

"_Deo adjuvante non timendum_."

She gasped, sagged and nearly fell. Chase hastily grasped under her arms and hauled her into his apartment. He dragged her onto the sofa and made her look at him once more.

"Are you awake now?"

She blinked, uncertain where she was. "Chase?"

"Yes." He knelt in front of her. "What happened?"

The hovering tears began to tip and fall. "I b-believe you. About House. About Anne. He's not human anymore. H -he promised me…"

"I know." Chase drew her into his arms as she sobbed. "It's going to be alright. I know someone who can help us."

End of Part Five


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6 - The Body's Guest

**HOUSE and ANNE**

The Corvette made good time, but it was still too cold to drive with the top down. The stereo blared 'Copperhead Road' as they turned off the main highway and drove to their B&B on Chesapeake Bay.

The salty tang of the ocean was tinged with a pleasant fishy scent as the 'vette rumbled down the gravel road. A large Victorian style house loomed in the center of a field. Wild blown trees peppered the hillside, their branches warped by wind and time.

The hostess was a chatty dumpling of a woman. The beds were brass and the hot tub was steaming. Chilled from the drive, House almost immediately stripped and settled into the tub. Anne lounged in an overstuffed chair, strumming her guitar.

House stretched contentedly in the bubbling liquid, but within moments the platinum locket overheated uncomfortably. He pulled it off and set it aside on the damp tile.

"What is that?" Anne asked, her fingers busy retuning the instrument.

_Gift from a patient?_ House sank deeper into the water. "A memento to remind me of my Hippocratic Oath."

Anne reached for a vodka cooler from their stash. "I like the bird. What is it?"

"Mmmm."

_The man hath penance done, and penance more will do._

To avoid any other questions, House sank below the bubbles and held his breath.

_I want you to suffer, Dr. House._

**CUDDY and FOREMAN**

Cape Cod, Foreman belatedly realized, is very cold in November, and old family farmhouses, generally, did not have central heating. His common sense told him to put on a sweater, but his fashion sense made him stuff the argyle way down to the bottom of his duffle bag.

Cuddy placed a javalog in the bedroom fireplace and lit it.

"It'll be warmer in a little while. Where's your sweater?"

"No idea." Eric's teeth began to chatter. "It'll turn up." _Next week. In a used clothing store._

Cuddy hid a smile and poured two glasses of amber liquid. "Here. Some of this will warm you up."

Foreman accepted the drink and inhaled the scent of scotch. "You don't usually come here in November, do you?"

"Mmm-no. It's more of a summer retreat. It's definitely the off season right now." Cuddy pulled votive candles and glass cups from an antique dresser drawer. She lit them with a long wooden match. A sulfurous aroma tainted the air for a minute, replaced by the soothing scent of vanilla. She turned off the bulb and the light in the room dimmed to a warmer, livelier quality.

The log's flames rose a little higher and Foreman crouched down, rubbing his hands. He heard the faint sound of fabric rustling. Her shadow on the wall revealed a woman donning something sheer, elegant and completely impractical for a farmhouse in November.

He did not turn around, but waited for her to come to him.

_It's definitely getting warmer in here._

LATER

Cuddy snored, but not unpleasantly. It was a soft, contented sound. Foreman stroked her back as she slept, absorbed in the flame's dancing play of light. Dark skin. White skin. Shadow. The pink tip of her breasts. The pink tip of her tongue. The salty scent of the ocean, and the taste of her sweat mingled with his own.

The heat and the cold.

The light and the shadow.

The uncertainty of two burning hearts.

**CHASE**

Cameron finally slept, exhausted with fear and frustration. He covered her with an old quilt, one his grandmother made him years ago. Its scent still reminded him of her. Scotch mints, mothballs and … lavender?

He wondered what she would make of all of this. What would Nana say?

"_There are some things a doctor canna cure. Broken hearts for one."_

She told him that the first time he'd been hurt by a girl.

Nana kept a little prayer book in her pocket. The same one he found that quote in.

"_Deo adjuvante non timendum_." 'With God's help, nothing be feared'.

He picked up the obit and reread it. How many times had everyone at work ragged on him for that little kiss. A little kiss for a little girl who would only have a little life.

She'd written to him just before she died.

"_I saw the butterflies today. One looked just like a leaf from a tree. One landed on my face and kissed me right on the lips and made me think of you._

_Thank you."_

His eyes began to prickle with searing tears. A little girl dead of cancer while another who should be dead from cancer was driving south with House. Her death kept at bay by some hellish pact.

It was like some terrible game of _dominos de diable_. Anne lured House. House lured Cameron. And if Cameron relented to temptation, who then would she draw into the pit?

**WILSON**

Debbie from accounting gave him a goodnight kiss that seemed both chaste and teasing at the same time. Hadn't he seen this very scenario in some Hitchcock movie? Grace Kelly and Cary Grant? With each successive date she became more annoying. Her motions and her speech all seemd to be copped from films. Wilson felt like he was dating a movie trailer.

He climbed into his car, feeling vaguely stupid. Instead of turning left for home he turned right and pulled up in front of Cameron's place. The rain had stopped. Her windows were dark. Maybe she'd gone to bed. He got out and rang her bell.

No answer. She wasn't home. Maybe she was on call?

Except it was at least eleven p.m.

Wilson pouted in his car. Had he expected her to sit by the damn phone? Had he been replaced already? He made a mental tally. Foreman was away with Cuddy, a wholly unexpected development even House had not predicted. House had gone south with Anne. That left Chase and himself. On a hunch he drove pass Chase's place.

Her car sat cold in the street. A blue light flickered in Chase's apartment window. A lava lamp, probably. Could she be screaming Chase's name as he did sensual things - no doubt disgustly Australian in origin - to her lithe body?

He waited in hopes it was just a quick, platonic visit.

For half an hour.

He became cold._ Go home._

Alone?

_This is pathetic._ Wilson climbed out of the car. He didn't knock right away, but quietly pressed his ear to the door. He thought he heard weeping. Yes, definitely weeping, then Chase called out her name.

Dejected, Wilson turned and began to walk away. Too late. Too late now. He'd lost her.

Suddenly, the still night shattered with the sound of a terrified scream.

**CAMERON**

House was stretched out in a tub. Guitar music played in the background. His platinum locket lay abandoned on the edge of the tiles. Cameron knelt down and inspected it. A seabird. An albatross.

She was dreaming. He could not see her as she watched him. His leg now almost entirely whole, but for a pink sheen to the regenerated skin. Nothing a few days in the sun couldn't cure.

The music stopped. Cameron watched as Anne got up, leaned over the tub, gave House a deep kiss and palmed the locket.

"_House!"_ Cameron shouted. _"She just stole your locket."_

House released Anne, and she began to undress.

"Shove over." Her blouse fell to the floor.

"Have you ever done it in a hot tub?" House made room for her.

"No comment."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. Just you or was there more than two people?"

Naked, Anne climbed in beside him. "No comment."

"Oh my." House waggled his brows. "All women or co-ed?"

"Talk to my lawyer."

"OH!" House laughed in delight. "You naughty, naughty girl…"

Anne turned and looked straight at Cameron, her eyes slits of endless shadow.

Suddenly, the water in the hot tub bubbled violently, as if heated by all the flames of hell. House bawled in agony. Anne thrust House below the surface. His skin reddened and erupted into blisters as he boiled like a lobster. Cameron could hear him screaming under the water. Drowning. Dying.

She reached out, but her hand passed through them both.

Anne held House down effortlessly and laughed at Cameron's useless attempts to stop her.

"You can't save him either."

Cameron bolted up with an earsplitting scream.

End of part 6


	7. Chapter 7

The Body's Guest - Part 7 DR KELLER DEAN 

Dr Keller Dean uploaded the recording of House's last session and replayed it. His free-floating association technique produced mixed results with House. Greg, he knew, wanted to talk, but couldn't directly confront his own foibles.

TRANSCRIPT: GREG HOUSE - October 25/2005 

DEAN: What do you read in the newspaper?

HOUSE: The usual. Comics. Horoscopes. The crossword. Editorial cartoons. The personals. Dave Barry.

DEAN: Foreign affairs?

HOUSE: Hardly ever. So there's a mudslide in Istanbul? Not really relevant to me unless they airlift the victims to the clinic.

DEAN: Domestic politics?

HOUSE: Irrelevant. Politics are like proctology. All assholes are the same color with the same function. Spout crap. Political propaganda attempts to tell us that the crap doesn't stink. Tens years after the term ends, if we're lucky, the crap has composted into something harmless.

DEAN: Do you vote?

HOUSE: Only with my feet. Lately that's been more difficult.

DEAN: Favorite President?

HOUSE: Kennedy.

DEAN: Ah.

HOUSE: The conspiracy theories are such a gas.

DEAN: Oh.

HOUSE: What if Oprah Winfrey ran for president?

DEAN: How would you feel about a black female president?

HOUSE: It'd be great. Then Paula Abdul could be Vice President. Then we'd see some really hot intern-based sexual scandals.

DEAN: Do you like women?

HOUSE: If I say no, you're not going to take it as an opening to ask me out, are you?

DEAN: No.

HOUSE: Too bad. Mom told me I should marry a doctor. Or was it 'call Mary a Doctor'. I forget.

Dean paused the recording, perturbed. House's file lay on his deck.

Something deep.

Something important.

Something…

**CHASE, WILSON and CAMERON**

Wilson hissed as Chase set his broken fingers. "She screamed like a banshee. What was I supposed to think?"

"You could have just knocked. It wasn't even bolted."

"I'll pay for the door, okay?"

"Don't forget the table. What were you doing outside my place, anyway?"

Wilson glanced down at his swelling ankle and pointedly ignored the question. "Stupid place for a table. So not Feng shui."

Chase finished wrapping the fingers. "Next time I'll be sure to decorate on the assumption you'll be busting down my door to save Cameron from nightmares."

Wilson flexed his hand slightly and winced. "I'll pay for the table."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"How much will it cost for you not to mention this to anyone?" Wilson hobbled to the door. The copy of the obituary lay on the floor. Wilson limped over and picked it up with difficulty. It was moist in places, as if drops of water had been sprinkled on it. _That explained the weeping. But why was Alison sleeping on his couch?_

"You couldn't afford my silence." Chase took the scrap of paper from him and cleared his throat. "Are you going to the funeral?"

"Of course."

A soft cough came from the bathroom. Cameron shyly entered the room and collected her things. She looked at Chase. "Will you be back at work tomorrow?"

Chase nodded. "Yeah. First thing after the lock is replaced."

"Thanks for the shoulder."

"Anytime."

She opened the smashed door with some difficulty. "C'mon, James. I'll help you to your car."

Chase watched them leave, a blend of amusement and pity on his face. He sighed and shoved the door closed. It made a grinding whine of resistance. He braced it with a heavy chair and put a bowl of coins on top. If anyone forced the door open, he'd know.

He stripped to track pants, crawled into bed and lay in the dark, thinking.

_The look of outrage and determination on Wilson's face as he burst thought the door, a look that turned to dismay as the force of his entry carried him across the room, where he smashed into a wooden table and fell heavily onto the floor._

_Cameron on the sofa, tangled up in the quilt, startled but silent after her scream. Chase, behind the sofa, watched in astonishment as Wilson scrambled to his feet, fingers bent but still ready to fight._

"_Er… I was dreaming… a night mare." Cameron blearily looked from the broken door, to a belligerent Wilson, to a bewildered Chase._

_Deflated, Wilson tried not to appear as if he'd expected to find her restrained on the floor, defending her honor with futile girlie punches._

"_Your fingers are broken." Chase observed._

"_Yes." Wilson looked at his two bent fingers. "So they are."_

_Cameron scrambled up. "Do you have a first aid kit?"_

"_Bathroom."_

Chase chuckled, content that this new scandal would divert attention from his 'drugging" episode. Wilson and Cameron? Lord! It seemed as unlikely as Foreman and Cuddy.

FOREMAN AND CUDDY 

The coffin was small and overburdened with floral arrangements. Chase stood slightly apart. Cameron stood with Wilson, their hands intertwined. Cuddy sniffed quietly beside him. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a clean white handkerchief and slipped it into her hand.

She took it, squeezing his hand a little as she did so.

The minister read steadily, but the words were lost in the cold wind. An orange leaf fluttered around the flowers. No. Not a leaf. A butterfly. Foreman blinked. It was well past the time for butterflies. They should have migrated to Mexico by now. The Monarch fought the winds and darted among the flowers piled on the coffin. A smile lit up Chase's face. How fitting, Foreman thought, remembering Chase's gift.

The butterfly soared into the air again and landed on the lapel of Chase's coat, just over his heart. Foreman watched as Chase stood very still, all eyes drawn to the tiny creature. Chase's expression became exquisitely melancholy. It was too cold. Too late in the season. The butterfly would not survive anymore than the little girl had.

The butterfly flitted up to Chase's face and landed on the side of his cheek near his mouth. Foreman felt Cuddy's hand slip into his, her whisper tinged with awe.

"Is that butterfly kissing Chase?"

Orange wings dipped twice. Chase closed his eyes. A single tear slipped down his face. The butterfly, attracted by it's need for salt, sipped from the tear and then soared away. All eyes followed it until the bright bug disappeared into the overcast sky.

Maybe it wasn't too late after all, Foreman thought, and tightly grasped Cuddy's trembling hand.

WILSON and CAMERON 

The area around the implant was still tender. Despite his broken fingers, Wilson installed it himself. Cameron said little after she apologized for misleading him. He told the opportunity to tell her about this impending vasectomy. He decided to keep the appointment. He didn't say he didn't want kids. Part of him did, but he knew better than to father a child when he was unlikely going to be able to sustain a long-term relationship with the mother. He didn't say that either.

"I can't say as I blame you." She rubbed at the implant and mentally tallied when House would return. 22 days. Chase had three weeks to find House and do whatever it was he had planned. She didn't want to know. "Don't tell me anything," she begged Chase. "Don't trust me. I can't fight this."

Three days passed and still the vision of the blue-eyed boy had not faded.

And Wilson's eyes weren't blue, were they?

_How badly do you want_…SHUT UP!

"You okay?" Wilson appeared vaguely distraught. His features seemed like a little boy's.

Cameron smiled weakly. "I feel terrible... about what I did."

Wilson relaxed. "Hey, at least you weren't drugged, or broke down a door, or something - y'know - really silly."

"I lied to you. I took advantage - "

"Everyone lies." Wilson shrugged. "But not everyone admits to lying, and then tries to make it right."

Her eyes focused on the floor. "Sometimes House doesn't get that."

Wilson placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face until she met his eyes.

"I get that."

It was exactly the perfect thing to say, Cameron thought. _No wonder women don't hesitate to marry him._

She leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

"I'm so glad you get that."

HOUSE AND ANNE 

The guard at the gate casually reviewed House's identification and dutifully noted the license number on the car.

"Welcome to San Andre's, miss. Good to have you back, Dr. House."

"Thanks. " House guided the 'vette into the condo's allotted space, got out with a groan of relief and stretched. "9 hours in the same position and not even sexual. I need a swim. Ocean or pool?"

"Ocean." Anne threw her duffle bag over her shoulder, hefted the guitar case in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. "But let's get settled first."

House picked up his own bag, and led the way. "My aunt left me this place after I correctly diagnosed her terminal condition."

"What did she die of?"

"Embarrassment mostly. She had a fondness for certain prescription meds, and I prescribed bottles of the best placebos money could buy."

Anne laughed. "That's hilarious."

House turned the key. Stale air assaulted his nose. How many years since he'd been here? Five? More? He opened windows frosted with salty film, then pulled open the patio door. A tiny lizard sat on the wall nearby, watching him with interest.

"Consider yourself evicted, buddy." His long fingers darted out and delicately grasped the little lizard. Carefully, almost reverently, he released it outside.

The bar was still fully stocked. House grunted in appreciation. It was a tribute to the management of San Andre's that his booze had never been pillaged in five years. The only occupant of the fridge was a shriveled nut that had been a lime once upon a time. He threw it out and put the groceries away. Ground coffee. Cream. Eggs, bacon, bread and other sundries filled the icebox and cupboards. Still lots of canned goods, he noted with satisfaction. More than enough for a month, if required.

Tonight, he decided, they would eat out. "The chef is amazing here. We can eat poolside or dress up and go to the Clubhouse, but there's this great sea food place on the inland waterway…"

Anne looked horrified. "Dress up? I only brought casual stuff to wear."

House pulled Anne into his arms and kissed her. She squirmed as he rubbed his stubble against her neck. "West Palm Beach is great shopping for clothes. Hideously over priced merchandise, full of riffraffian gawkers gaping at uber-rich, tacky troglodytes. We can totally mess with their minds. It'll be family fun for everyone."

"Sounds shallow and mean-spirited," Anne giggled. "Okay."

"That's my naughty girl."

To be continued…


	8. Chapter 8

The Body's Guest - Part 8 HOUSE and ANNE 

The surf bubbled with a sizzling froth as it pounded the shore. A blue-purple Man-O-War bobbed in the waves as they walked along the shoreline. Anne occasionally stooped gracefully to pick up a bit of sea glass, and once - a delicate, perfect white sand dollar that crumbled in his palm. House felt vaguely affronted that the fragile shell withstood the roaring surf of ages on end, but not his careful handling.

Hunting gulls toddled over the retreating, hissing waves, their cold, unblinking eyes looking for anything edible. House strode confidently in the soft sand. He hadn't walked a beach in years. He had missed it, canes being useless in sand. He loved the scent of beaches. Each had a unique flavor.

The smoky dead tang of a cold fire pit wafted past. Nearby a brightly painted hut rose out of the silky beach glass. He remembered this place. The surf shop held a bonfire every Saturday night. Music, beer, locals and visitors. Different brands. Different songs. Naked, moonlight swims. Anne could bring her guitar and towels. He'd bring the beer and pretend to forget the swimsuits. Her hand felt gritty with sand, and slightly chilled in the breeze. The vast stretch of sand was deserted but for themselves. Hard clean sand. Perfect.

"I'm going for a run." House released her hand and began to sprint. He fell in a patch of soft sand once, but sprang up again and kept going. The wind flew pass his ears. Gray gulls with malevolent, bloody eyes scattered and shrieked their displeasure at him. House hated seagulls and ran at them deliberately. _Fly away. Don't come back._ Nasty birds.

House ran and ran and then laughed until his sided ached for air. Anne strolled up to him, her wide eyes on the ocean. "Look at that."

Large waves crested over the reef. In the smooth curve of the rising water they saw sharks chasing silver flashing fish. Again and again the sea rose, and for a heartbeat, created a brief clear window into another world. Sometimes a shark flew up out of the water, spun around, a writhing fish in its sharp teeth.

House watched the hunters, enthralled. "Spinners. They're in a feeding frenzy."

Desperate fish darted out of the water, the sharks in close pursuit. Blood in the water. More sharks. More waves. More blood.

_It's interesting to watch things die. _House glanced at Anne. She regarded the deadly struggle dispassionately in the fading light. Her eyes wide, unblinking, and red-rimmed. Just like those nasty gulls.

_It's interesting to watch others watch things die, too._

CAMERON and FOREMAN 

Foreman made notes as he consulted a series of files. House's charting _was_ dismal. In places House had simply lost interest and made things up. Foreman wisely stuck to cases he worked on firsthand.

His first lecture would be on the theme of allergic reactions. Chase and Cameron, on the other hand, would continue to busy themselves in the clinic. Cuddy beamed in approval and booked him for the next morning.

"I've never seen things so quiet." Cuddy commented. "It's weird. Usually House goes on vacation and all hell breaks loose."

"When House got bored he'd lurk in the corridors looking for anomalies." Foreman stuffed his lecture notes in his briefcase. "Like the baby epidemic, and that boy's mom with the Vitamin K problem. He went looking for trouble."

"Anomaly?" Cuddy frowned. "What's his girl friend's name again?"

"Anne - er…."

"Nomely?"

"Ann Nomely? No way."

They exchanged a puzzled look. Cuddy reached for the computer keyboard to verify it. She tapped away for a few moments. "That's the name she gave the clinic. Sounds fishy, doesn't it? A woman beating a deadly cancer for years, a medical anomaly named Ann Nomely?"

"Yeah, it's strange, but it's too obvious." Foreman pointed out. "Why not pretend to be Irish and call yourself Ann O'Malley?"

Cuddy shifted uncomfortably. "Because it wouldn't be obvious enough?"

Foreman twitched. "You're not thinking strange thoughts like Chase was thinking, are you?"

"Of course not." Cuddy began sifting through the file cabinets. "Do you have her original files? Wilson's first assessment?"

Foreman twitched again.

CAMERON 

Chase stood deep in discussion with a woman. The woman stopped talking and her bitter, blue-ice eyes pierced Cameron like a knife. She leaned over and whispered something in Chase's ear, stuffed a bit of paper in his hand, then turned and left abruptly. He stuffed the paper away. She glanced at the clock. Tomorrow, according to the schedule, was the first of a three-day break for Chase. Instinctively, she knew he would go look for House. He would try to stop him. Chase finished up and gave her a friendly wave as he left the clinic. Cameron shivered. She wanted him to fail almost as much as she needed him to succeed. She charted her last patient and then clocked out.

Wilson caught up with her on her way to the office. "Dinner?"

"Sounds lovely." She offered him a shy smile. At lunch Deb from accounting glared at her with sheer malice and envy but Cameron pretended not to notice. Gloria walked by Cameron in the hall not long after, the admin's pouchy eyes flashed both triumph and pity her way.

_No secrets in a hospital._

"I know this great place for Thai."

Cuddy pigeonholed him almost as soon as he entered the office. "Dr. Wilson, I need you to verify something."

**WILSON**  
"No, definitely not." Wilson laughed. "It's got to be a joke or something. Probably House's idea of a lark."

Cuddy shook her head. "The records were altered before she saw House in the clinic. Think! Can you recall her real name?"

"For God's sake," Wilson gestured helplessly. "It was 7 years ago." Why would Anne go to a lot of trouble to change her name on some old medical records? Cameron waited, a trifle impatiently. Wilson shrugged. "I'll think on it and let you know."

"You saw House walking without his cane too, didn't you?" Cuddy pressed.

_This is ridiculous_. "His cane had puke on it so he wouldn't use it. He took more Vicodin to compensate. That's what he told me."

Cameron's foot was tapping lightly on the floor. Cuddy glanced at her sharply. The foot stopped moving at once.

"If you recall her name I want to know. " Cuddy left, her hands full of Anne's files.

Foreman breathed a worried sigh. "Has anyone seen Chase? I want to ask him about that night he was drugged. He's not answering his pages."

"No idea." Wilson looked at Cameron, who silently pulled on her winter jacket. "I'll send him your way if I see him."

CHASE 

It was hot in Tampa and the rental car had no air conditioning. What sort of idiot would purchase a fleet of cars for the southern US that didn't include air conditioning? After getting lost 3 times, he found the place. Chase registered as a visitor at the gate after he dutifully produced three forms of ID. He parked in the visitor's section, located House's apartment and knocked at the door.

The bit of paper, damp with sweat, tore in his hands. _San Andre's, Delray._ She'd written the name on a page of the bible, right above the passage: _Seek and ye shall find._

No answer. _Now what. Where do I go now?_

He left the building and stood in the lush garden, thinking. House's corvette sat parked and cool in the shade. House wasn't at the pool. Chase scanned the chairs poolside on the way to the apartment.

A Hyacinth blossom bobbed over him, its blood red shade echoing that of the car, but its yellow gold stamen licked the breeze. A monarch butterfly fluttered and landed on the blossom.

_I don't believe this._ It couldn't possibly be the same butterfly. The odds were astronomical. Then again…

"I need to find Dr. House," he whispered.

A fat woman stared at him from the parking lot. He smiled weakly. The butterfly soared into the air. Chase scrambled after it. It flew over a long stretch of perfect lawn that led towards the ocean. Three stories of gleaming white apartments loomed on either side. A plank fence buffered by a thick green hedge separated the lawn from the ivory sand.

Chase spotted House as he snorkeled along the reef, occasionally standing up on the rocks. His locket danged and flashed brightly in the sun, like a silver fish in the water. He wore short bathing trunks. He stood on two perfect legs.

The butterfly flitted away as Chase watched it disappear. He wished he had more time to think about the implications of souls, butterflies and quantum physics but he first he had to deal with House. Chase slipped off his shoes and socks, then ventured onto the burning sand

A florid, sunburned, tourist on the shore stopped and frantically waved to House. "HEY BUDDY! LOOK OUT! SHARK! SHAAAARK!"

Chase ran to the water's edge as a large black-tipped fin headed straight at House.

To be continued…


	9. Chapter 9

The Body's Guest - Part 9 

By Bardvahalla (2005)

Dr. KELLER DEAN 

Dr. Keller Dean lay in his bed, alone. The white sheets, chilled at first, soon grew warm with his body's heat. He positioned the earbuds and closed his eyes. The sound file played repeatedly on his MP3 player. This was the session he first noticed House's locket. House had caressed it like the face of a lover and steadfastly refused to discuss its contents. It was the first and only time Dean truly felt like he'd hit a nerve.

Dr. Dean: What's the strangest thing you've ever experienced?

House: Weird Al Yankovic kind of strange or Paris Hilton's increasing popularity kind of strange?

Dr. Dean: An out-of-body experience kind of strange. Something beyond your realm of understanding. An event that bothers you when you think about it.

House: There is one thing that really bothers me.

Dr. Dean: Yes?

House: Teletubbies. Tinky Winky's very strange. Never watch Teletubbies when you're stoned. Trust me on that.

Dr. Dean: I was thinking of something more spiritual. You were technically dead at one point during your operation, weren't you? You spoke of this incident during a lecture, correct?

House: It was only a dream. Don't get all Freudian on me.

Dr. Dean: I'm curious as to your interpretation of it. What did you dream, Dr House?

House: Next question.

Dr. Dean: All right. We'll talk about something else. That's a nice locket. Silver?

House: Platinum.

Dr. Dean: A gift?

House: Of a sort.

Dr. Dean: You've handled it nervously for several minutes.

House: It's cheaper than heroin.

Dr. Dean: Why is it important?

House: It's not.

Dr. Dean: Why do people wear jewelry, Dr. House?

House: You tell me, Dr. Smarty-pants.

Dr. Dean: A locket usually holds a photo of a loved one.

House: Usually.

Dr. Dean: So? Who do you love, Dr, House?

House: I don't love. Not anymore.

Dr. Dean: Then why the locket? What does it symbolize?

House: Next question.

Dr. Dean: That's a bird etched on it, isn't it?

House: Just drop it, Keller.

Dr. Dean: You don't want to talk about it. Why?

House: This session is over.

_**CLICK.**_

Dr. Dean: What's the strangest thing you've ever experienced.

House: Weird Al Yankovic kind of strange or Paris Hilton's increasing popularity kind of strange?

**HOUSE and CHASE**

The shark's fin passed House then turned sharply. House felt the water grow momentarily warmer as he awkwardly lurched over the coral. The edge of the deep red reef below ended. Fear seeped coldly over his flesh. The next step would plunge him into 7 feet of water. Then he faced a 60-foot swim to the beach.

Had he cut his foot on the reef? Had blood in the water attracted it? He felt a rush of water against his legs. A wavering black hole under the surface looked at him expectantly as the shark leisurely passed again. At least 4 feet from dorsal to tail. Only seven feet long, but still big enough to take an arm.

_Or a leg._

Uncertain of his best course of action, House looked to the distant shore. Someone bent on rescue was frantically swimming out to him. A tourist on the sand screamed for help. A few curious onlookers had gathered. The shark circled once more and then lunged at him.

Its blunt snout connected just under his rib cage. The force pushed him off the reef and into the shallows. Instinctively House understood it was more a gesture of curiosity than a serious attack. House pulled his snorkel off and opened his eyes beneath the water. The shark disappeared into the blue murk. If it made another pass, he would try gouging its eye with the end of the snorkel.

Careful not to thrash about, House kicked his finned feet evenly and headed for shore. His eyes darted over the water's surface, vigilant for the reappearance of the fin.

In 4 feet of water he met up with the man coming out to rescue him. He looked vaguely familiar. For an eternal moment House felt he was dreaming.

"Keep going." Chase stood, his shirt plastered to pale skin, which was ornamented with a tress of thick seaweed and bright with the morning sun. The young doctor stared doggedly past him. His pupils suddenly dilated. "Get to shore, House. Now!"

_The hell?_ "Chase?"

"MOVE!"

Chase dove past him and under the surface. House turned in time to see a long gray tail thrash as Chase struggled under the waves. A filmy red stain began to form underwater. Someone screamed.

CAMERON 

Her dreams grew in intensity with every passing night. The blue-eyed child sleeping. Laughing. Calling her name. The scent of him filled her lungs. The potential of his pure little life filled her heart.

_Just say yes._

Ten minutes with House and she would never be lonely again.

She felt House's blue eyes look at her from a child's face. All the intelligence and none of the bitterness. Nothing to fix, just a little life to keep whole and pure and sweet. Her redemption.

_Children grow up. _A woman's voice. A voice of reason. _Children leave._

_No. _

Cameron struggled not to listen.

_Children die._

_I'm a doctor,_ Cameron argued.

_Doctors screw up, _the voice replied. _My son died because House screwed up._

No.

It was dark. She couldn't tell where the voice was coming from or how to make it stop.

_Yes. He killed my son. He'll take your soul._

_You're only a dream._

_But in this sleep of death what dreams may come._

_Go away._

_He won't love you. He'll never really love you._

_I don't want House's love. Not anymore._

_I was speaking of your son._

NO! 

The sensation of drowning in the Sargasso Sea overwhelmed Cameron as she thrashed. Her world fell away. The cold floor smacked her shoulder. A sharp corner of the bedside table cut into the back of her neck. Damp sheets entwined her trembling legs. The clock radio buzzed harshly with static and the vague voice of a DJ.

She lay still and stunned on the floor. _Just a dream. Only a dream._

A dust bunny danced past her face in the dim light. A fluffy cluster of her molted hair and shed skin, a tiny tumbleweed made up of her DNA. All that she had begat in this world, so far. She reached out, grasped it and crushed it in her fist.

The memory of House's face with the bottomless black eyes leered at her. _Think about it._

It took a few minutes but she found a scalpel in her old med bag. Delicately she made the cut in her shoulder. Her long sharp nails grasped the implant and pulled it out.

Are you listening House? Can you hear me? 

_Yes._

**HOUSE and CHASE**

"Try not to bleed on my carpet." House grabbed a bottle of Beefeaterss, opened it, and poured gin in a shallow bowl. He found a small sewing kit in the junk drawer. "Sure you wouldn't rather go to Emerg?"

"I'm fine. Just do it. It's only a few stitches."

"Lucky you didn't lose an arm." House dipped a needle and thread in the alcohol to sterilize them. "Just missed the artery."

"Better my arm than my soul."

House dipped his fingers in the gin as well. "Like you would know."

"Where's your lady friend?"

"She left." _No note. No explanation. None needed._

Chase twitched as the sewing needle passed through his flesh. House deftly stitched the rent in his arm, and then poured more gin over it.

House mopped up the excess alcohol with a towel. "Shall I kiss it better?"

"No thanks." Chase gingerly flexed his arm. The bite would leave a scar.

"Nice trick with the shark." House pulled a cigar from a box and lit it. He offered one to Chase, who shook his head. "Did you learn that in Australia?"

"Discovery Channel. Saw a diver stun a great white that way." Fragrant, gray smoke filled the room and stung Chase's eyes. He hated the overwhelming and pretentious stink of cigars. His father smoked them for years, and had the cancer to show for it.

"And here I thought it was part of Sydney private school curriculum for rich surfer boys." Puff.

_Ungrateful bastard._ "You're welcome."

"I don't need you to save me." Flick.

House suddenly turned his head, alert.

_Are you listening, House? Can you hear me? _

_Yes._

_Yes._

Chase pulled his damp, sandy shirt back on. "It's too late to save you. I'll settle for saving Cameron. Leave her alone."

House deeply inhaled a lungful of smoke. "It's a bit late for her too, Dr. Chase."


	10. Chapter 10

The Body's Guest - Part 10 

By Bardvahalla (2005)

WILSON AND FOREMAN 

"Cuddy's furious." Wilson tossed the ball over to Foreman. "She's tried calling Chase a dozen times. He's not picking up."

"House isn't either. Not that that surprises me. He left his cell phone here." Foreman dialed the number. On cue, the notes of _Margaritaville_ shrilly echoed repeatedly from a lock filing cabinet. The cell's power cord dangled from the gap in the file drawer to the electrical socket. "Perhaps you might mention that to Dr. Cuddy."

"He didn't leave the key to the cabinet, obviously." Wilson observed.

"Must have slipped his mind." Foreman hung up and the cell stopped ringing.

"Cuddy's obsessed."

Foreman sipped his coffee. _Needs more sugar. _"Especially since Chase's disappearance."

Wilson pulled the copy of Chase's drug test from a file. "No one else at the party was drugged, right?"

He found a stained packet of refined sugar in House's top drawer, added half to his cup and stirred it with a pen. "I called, but the host confirmed that no one else was affected."

"So if he was Mickey finned, then it wasn't at the party."

"That leaves here." Sip. _Better._

"Any chance you'd recall what he ingested that day?"

Foreman thought back. Halloween. Chase ranted about House's girlfriend, American beer, and about the lack of tea the very day Anne had been in House's office.

"Tea!"

"What?"

Foreman got up and checked the kitchenette. No tea on the counter. Just a few packets of the cinnamon and mint stuff that Cameron brought in months ago. 'What's that really stinky tea called?"

"Chamomile?" Wilson floundered.

"No. It's got a perfume-like scent. Count something?" Foreman searched the drawers. Dammit!

Wilson smirked. "Earl Gray?"

**HOUSE and ANNE**

_Found him._

_Where?_

_Private yacht. Anchored off Cuba. Still working on Chase?_

_Yes._

_We could set him up for this._

_No. I want him clean._

_As you wish._

House felt a calmness and confidence fill a void in his heart. They all were slowly becoming of one mind. Soon no words would be needed at all.

CUDDY and CAMERON 

"So you did see him walking without the cane?"

Cameron fidgeted. "Wilson mentioned something about puke on the cane."

"Dr. Cameron, I'm asking what YOU remember."

_Meet her eyes. Don't act like a child._

"Yes. He was walking without the cane."

"Normally?"

"No."

_Now. Lie. Just lie._

"Lurching a bit. He leaned on tables to balance himself."

_Yes! That's my girl!_

Cuddy sagged in her chair. "Okay. Get back to the clinic."

Cameron strode to the door, glad to go.

"Dr. Cameron?"

"Yes, Dr. Cuddy?"

Cuddy shook a couple of painkillers out onto the desk. "If you hear from either Dr. House or Dr. Chase I want you to phone me right away."

"If they phone me, you'll be the first to know," Cameron assured her.

_Ooooo! Loophole. Very nice._

_Thanks._

_How soon can you get down here?_

_Where is 'here'?_

WILSON 

Cameron wasn't picking up. Chase wasn't picking up. House was unreachable.

He would have to tell Cuddy. He didn't want to tell Cuddy. He picked up his phone.

Where could Allison be? What the hell was going on? He dialed Cuddy's number.

Cuddy didn't pick up.

CAMERON 

Her phone kept ringing. Cuddy. Wilson. Cuddy. Foreman. Then Wilson. Wilson. Wilson Wilson.

She chucked the cell out the window on the way to the airport. Security took forever. She picked up a discarded newspaper to pass the time.

A TV in the waiting area blared breaking news.

"_- found dead off the coast of Cuba, raising ugly speculations about his presence near Havana. A spokesperson for Mr Vogler's corporation issued a short press release claiming that Mr Vogler was merely in the area fishing for swordfish, and he had no business connections or personal interests in Cuba. The investigation continues."_

She felt nothing, except distant interest.

HOUSE and CHASE 

Chase wearily turned the ringer off the cell phone. He was tired. The same arguments round and round. Had it only be this morning he'd been injured by a shark?

Time seemed to mean nothing anymore.

House waited patiently in silence, like a cat outside a mouse hole. He was being toyed with. How did one reason with such a man? No empathy. No emotion. Certainly there was no gratitude for saving his life. Chase had only one last card to play, and House seemed to know it.

"Cuddy again?" House rattled the ice in his rum and coke.

"Yes."

A condescending smirk appeared. "Never take a cell phone on vacation. It undermines the entire idea of 'getting away'."

"This isn't a vacation." Chase argued. "Not for me and not for you. Surely you don't plan to return to Princeton and pretend you're still crippled?"

"Stop calling me Shirley."

"Don't you find it peculiar that Anne targeted both you and Cameron?"

"Why peculiar?"

"Because," Chase leaned forward. "Before all this, you both embraced atheism. God killed Cam's husband and ruined your leg, therefore he no longer existed for either of you."

"Meaning what exactly?" House toyed with the paper cigar band. Cuban. _How prophetic._

"What do you believe now?"

Who do you love, Dr. House? 

_He likes to see._

"Let me tell you a story," House put his drink down and leaned back. "About what I used to believe." With an almost choreographed elegance, he reached behind the sofa cushion and pulled out the impossible. Chase's eyes widened in disbelief. Trapped in House's fingertips tips were the delicate orange wings of a wildly struggling butterfly.

"I used to believe that if a butterfly flapped its wings in China, that it was possible a hurricane resulted off the coast of Florida."

"Let it go." Chase begged. "Please."

House regarded the thrashing insect dispassionately. "Little things can and do affect the outcome of great events. Little lies grow into much bigger problems. '_I never had sex with that woman'_, for example." With a sharp tug, House pulled an orange wing off and tossed it contemptuously aside.

"NO!" Chase lurched up but House savagely lashed him back with his bare foot. Chase collapsed, gasping for air, into the sofa cushions. Tears pooled in his eyes. "Stop hurting it. Please."

"It's just a butterfly, Dr. Chase." House tugged off another wing, flicked it away. "Get a grip."

As Chase recovered, House calmly grasped the remote and turned on the TV.

_"- dead off the coast of Cuba, raising ugly speculations about his presence near Havana. A spokesperson for Mr Vogler's pharmacutical corporation issued a short press release claiming that Mr Vogler was merely in the area fishing for swordfish, and he had no business connections or personal interests in Cuba. The investigation continues. Vogler's death has been ruled by Cuban authorities to be accidental, pending further investigation by the FBI."_

Chase stared at the screen and then glared at House. Vogler dead?

"You!"

"Me? Impossible." House muted the TV and tossed the remote back on the table. "I was being attacked by a shark this morning. There were two dozen witnesses at least." He plucked the last wing from the writhing insect and regarded the waving of its pin thin legs. "Say! Weren't Vogler and you good buddies? That's right! You tried to make a deal with a devil yourself, remember, Dr. Chase?"

"Not like this!"

"Oh, tomayto-tomahto! Exactly like this. My devil's better than yours. Nyah-nyah!" House tenderly stroked the naked black body of the frantic butterfly. He placed the squirming bug inside his mouth, chewed a few times, then swallowed it down with a mouthful from his drink.

Helpless, Chase could only clench his fists. House was beyond anger, fear or sanity now. He'd obviously bargained for far more than his leg. There was something deeper here. Something more important. What did he believe in? What did he want? Or who?

"Now." House wiped cola from his lips with the back of his hand and smiled brightly. "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

To be continued.


	11. Chapter 11

The Body's Guest - Part 11 

By Bardvahalla (2005)

CHASE 

The human body, Chase knew, is a machine of mere flesh of blood. The human brain could override its base desires and needs, but not for long. Darkness fell, enshrouded in a warm, damp cloak. The distant roar of the ocean lulled him, despite the throbbing red pain in his arm.

"There's food in the kitchen." House gestured to a white door. "Go make yourself something. Or go to the San Andre's Clubhouse, have dinner and put it on my tab. There's a guestroom down the hall if you'd rather sleep first."

"You can't be serious."

The whole situation had gone beyond surreal. _House isn't human anymore._

Chase didn't know what he was. He felt lost at sea, like a ship without wind. A painted ship on a painted ocean, frozen in its inaction.

"Let's see, a red-eye flight to Florida, probably three-hour drive, a shark attack; hours of futile moral debate; a kick to the groin and Vogler's death. Rather a busy day for you."

Chase rubbed at the bruise on his belly, suspicious. The desire for rest outweighed his need for food. _Get out. Leave. Run. House isn't human anymore._

"I'm not going anywhere, Chase." House crunched an ice cube noisily. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow." House shrugged genially. "Go sleep. You're starting to list to port, sailor."

"You'd actually tell me what your plans are?"

"Why not? No one will believe you, Chase. There's nobody you can go to for help. Nothing you can say and nothing you can do will stop me. You might as well stick around and watch the show."

The torn wings of the butterfly lay discarded on the floor. Wincing, Chase stood up, reverently retrieved them, then shuffled towards the guestroom. He fumbled for a light in the ensuite bathroom. It hurt to pee. A glimpse of himself in the mirror revealed a pale and hollow man, all hopes drained from his soul. He carefully arranged the wings on the bedside table. A whisper caught in his throat.

"I'm sorry."

He crawled into one of the beds to weep and dream of screaming Monarchs.

FOREMAN and CUDDY 

He heard her cell phone ring while they were in the shower. Her soapy hands paused on his chest, an internal struggle on whether to run for it.

"Relax." Foreman drew her closer to him. "If it's important, they'll leave a message."

"Mmmm."

"You missed a spot."

"Did I?" Cuddy looked up at him, feinting wide-eyed surprise.

"Mmm hmm."

"That'll never do." Her nails lightly raked a sensitive spot.

"A little to the left," Foreman moaned.

"Mmm"

WILSON 

His watch told him it was nearly 3 am. He drove to Chase's place, and peered through her window. A single light was on. Clothes were strewn over the floor. She wasn't home. She wasn't picking up.

Dejected, Wilson sat in his freezing car. _Where the hell is everyone?_

He knew where House probably was. His abandoned cell phone had mockingly played _Margaritaville_. That meant Florida. His aunt's old place, most likely. San Antonio's, wasn't it? No. San Andre's. He and House golfed there together once.

His fingers tapped against the steering wheel. He tried calling Cameron again. Nothing. He hesitated, then dialed directory assistance.

"I need a number for Gregory House. San Andre's Club. Florida. Delray, I think. I'm not sure. Thank you."

He tried the number. Disconnected. Dammit.

He turned the key and drove towards the airport. _I must be out of my mind._

CAMERON and HOUSE 

His door was ajar. The scent of fried chicken and garlic butter filled the apartment. She set her bag on the floor, noting the drops of dried blood that trailed to the sofa.

The bar light was on. An ice bucket with her favorite wine within waited.

House popped his head out of the kitchen doorway. "Get a drink. Relax. Just fixing a little something for blondie."

She popped the bottle of white wine, filled a crystal glass and strolled out onto the patio. The only sounds in the night air were the soft roar of the waves and the whisper of palm leaves caressing each other. She glanced at her watch. Almost three. What was it Fitzgerald wrote?

"_in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day."_

A little shadowy lizard on the wall peered at her, its eyes pinpoints of reflected light. It seemed able to peer into her dwindling soul. She balled her fist, feeling a surge of longing to smash the tiny creature into pulp. Just as suddenly the desire died. One hand fell, the other raised the glass and she gulped down the wine. It slid down her throat and hotly blossomed in her empty stomach.

If she left now she could be home by morning. Go to work. Pretend she'd never come. _How badly do you want…_

The patio door slid open. House stood with a hand outstretched, his features obscured by shadow, his voice low and clear. "This way."

Cameron followed him to the master bedroom. The blood red numbers of the digital clock read three am.

Soon she would have what she wanted.

_Soon._

**CHASE**

Chase woke with a pounding headache. He lurched out of bed, blearily recalled the location of the bathroom and used it. Blood in the urine. The colors of failure, cowardice and despair.

He followed his nose to the scent of food. The door to the master bedroom was closed. An overnight bag lay discarded in the center of the living room floor. The tag read "Alison Cameron. Princeton, NJ."

His stomach growled. Chase shuffled to the kitchen. A large wrapped plate laden with fried chicken waited for him on the table. He pulled two beers from the fridge, popped them and sat down to eat.

The pile of gnawed bones quickly accumulated on the plate. Grease ran down his stubbled chin. He chugged the first beer and belched heartily. Broken bones and empty bottles. The food numbed his cramped stomach. The beer numbed his ravaged will.

Chase licked the last of the chicken grease from his fingers then wiped his hands on his gritty shirt, already decorated with sweat, blood and tears. His wounded arm ached. The bandages, saturated with lurid yellow and red stains, reeked of sweat and futility. His overnight bag remained in the rental car. He would have go get it.

Then what?

_There's nobody you can go to for help. Nothing you can say and nothing you can do to stop me. You know no one will believe you, Chase, so you might as well stick around and watch the show._

Take a shower. Fresh bandages. Shave. Go home. Write a resignation letter. Get passport out of the safety deposit box. Buy a ticket home. Be back in Sydney for the weekend.

Chase didn't want to watch House's show. There was a danger he might become part of it.

DR. KELLER DEAN 

"Dr. House, please."

The nurse smiled dutifully. "Dr. House is on vacation for several weeks. Can we refer you to another doctor?"

"Is Dr. Cuddy in?"

"An emergency meeting of the hospital board has been called. I don't know how long she'll be."

The nurse took his cell number, then went in search of breakfast. The cafeteria coffee wasn't bad. Heaven knew he'd had far worse. Dean sat by a silk palm near a small cluster of whispering scrubbed nurses and administrative types. He pulled out a newspaper and read the front page quietly. Some wealthy businessman had been killed near Cuba. His name seemed familiar.

"It's just weird, Deb. First Dr. Chase gets drugged, then Dr. House suddenly decides to take off, then Dr. Chase disappears, then Dr. Cameron AND Dr. Wilson go AWOL? Why won't Cuddy call the cops?"

Dean's eye stopped scanning the page. He turned his head slightly to hear better.

"This can't have anything to do with Vogler."

"SHH! Christ, Gloria! Keep your voice down. I never suggested it did."

"The timing is very odd though."

"Is it? Vogler hated House with a passion."

"House hated Vogler."

"So? The whole board hated Vogler. I hated Vogler. He was always looking for dirt on everyone."

"It's just really effing strange. That's all I'm saying."

"I guess we just wait and see what the board decides to do."

"Two bits says a flock of reporters is here by noon."

Dean folded the paper, abandoned his coffee, got up and left.

_Something important, indeed._

**WILSON**

Wilson wasn't surprised when Chase answered the door. He was slightly surprised when Cameron, pleasantly disheveled, emerged from House's room. He was very surprised to see House wearing running shorts, his ravaged leg now whole and perfect.

Something fell.

Wilson said nothing, but went straight to the bar and poured himself a large, neat scotch. Cameron avoided his eyes as she passed him on her way to the kitchen.

Bitch.

"Morning James." House plucked up the early edition Miami Herald from the floor where it slipped from Wilson's fingers. Vogler's name dominated the front page in large type. Wilson caught the reflection of House in the bar's mirror, tossing the paper on the dining room table with a meaty thud. The scotch burned pleasantly as it made its way down his throat. He poured another.

The hiss of steam and scent of coffee seeped into the room. Typical Cameron. Always trying to play mommy.

House arched and cracked his back. "I suppose you're all wondering why I called this meeting."

HOUSE and ANNE 

_Where are you?_

_Cuba. Helping out with the investigation._

_Take your time._

Getting crowded there? 

_Wilson's just arrived._

_Have fun._

_Oh, I plan to._


	12. Chapter 12

The Body's Guest - Part 12 

By Bardvahalla (2005)

**CUDDY**

Dr. Keller Dean was shorter than she expected, and oddly handsome in an unappealing way. He combed his neatly cut hair just a little too perfectly. His skin actually shone. She wondered if he used a moisturizer. Dean toyed with an inscribed gold pen and occasionally made notes in a little leather-bound book. Neat. Precise. Cold.

"I'm still not entirely certain why you're here, Dr. Dean." Cuddy covered a pile of pink phone message notes with a thick file. Vogler dead. Doctors both missing and unreachable. Cameron's cell phone found abandoned on the side of the road. Police confirming flights to Tampa for Chase one day, Cameron the next, and Wilson the day after that. She'd received a call from the FBI just before Dean showed up. _What in hell is going on?_

"It's a little complicated." Dean's polite smile flitted unconvincingly across his face. "Dr. Cuddy, I cannot breach doctor-patient confidentially, but I can say that Dr. House missed his last session with me."

Cuddy sighed. Surely this couldn't be about an hour's fee? "I assure you, the invoice will be paid, Dr. Dean, as per your policy."

" Oh no! Please don't misunderstand me." Dean made a dismissive gesture. "It's just that in light of certain events, Mr Vogler's death and the mystery of your missing doctors to be specific, I feel bound to tell you, as House's prescribing physician - in lieu of Dr. Wilson - that in my opinion the painkillers he's taking may be promoting psychopathic tendencies."

It took a moment for Cuddy to digest Dean's rambling speech. "Excuse me?"  
"In the few weeks Dr. House consulted me, I noted a remarkable change in personality. I feel he is a danger to himself and to others."

"I see." Cuddy frowned. _What in hell?_

"Dr. House was not fond of Mr Vogler, I take it?"

_Oh shit. _Cuddy dredged up a vaguely professional expression."Thank you for sharing your concerns Dr. Dean, but I'm ending this conversation right now - unless you're willing to have my lawyer present."

His cool gray eyes regarded hers with growing distain. His finger slowly pressed the pens' trigger and he placed both it and the leather book inside a tailored jacket pocket. "I was paying you a professional courtesy, Dr., Cuddy. That is all."

"House is not a psychopath, Dr. Dean, in _my_ opinion."

Dean twitched in annoyance. "Normally, no. But something is affecting him. In my experience it's usually medication of some kind."

"I'll look into it."

"Thank you, Dr. Cuddy." His fist, hidden in a jacket pocket, twisted and made the leather book squeak in protest. "I only hope his condition doesn't worsen while he is away, if it hasn't already." His final comment left an sinister oily residue in the air. He stood and left the newspaper, front page up, on his chair. Dean briskly departed after bestowing another flitting and insincere smile.

Cuddy resumed discontentedly shuffling her pile of frantic phone messages.Her refusal to discuss House pissed him off, obviously.

_What in hell is going on?_

**CHASE**

Hot water turned crusted scabs into a pink-white jelly. They slithered off his arm and oozed down the drain. The makeshift stitches strained at the swollen red tissue, but the bite seemed to be healing.

Towel. Comb. Aspirin. Mouthwash.

He pulled a disposable razor from his kit, hesitated, and put it back. His hands weren't steady enough to shave properly. He felt like a lapdog, shivering in the arms of a lurching, drunken matron.

Boxers. Trousers. Socks. Watch.

He tossed the shaving kit into his bag after pulling out a fresh shirt. The butterfly's wings he gathered up and slipped into a breast pocket - the one over his heart. He left the door open and the bed unmade. _Time to go._

Cameron was calmly reading the paper at the dining room table.

What could be done? For her? For Wilson? For House? How could he possibly battle another's sheer will to possess the illusion of what they merely _thought_ they wanted? He only knew one way. The mere idea curdled the food in his stomach. No. He knew his own limitations.

So.

Too late for her. Too late for them all. But not too late for him. Not if he left now.

"Stay." She said it aloud, but he'd faintly felt a pre-echo of the word in his mind.

He looked at her aghast. "Absolutely not."

Flip. "You could have anyone. Be anything. Do anything. Be anyone."

"At what price?"

Flip. "There are ways around that." _Think about it._

"Shut the hell up, Cameron."

"Don't you get it yet?" Her eyes darkened unpleasantly. "You don't have to sacrifice your _own _soul."

Chase felt nauseous as the implications finally made became plain. "House traded your soul for his leg, and now …" _you want MINE?_

It was perverse her talking like this. A few days ago she'd been in fear for her own salvation. Now she spoke of condemning others as if it was some sort of game?

_House helped me get what I want. I help you get what you want. You help someone else to get what they want." The _voice inside his head echoed the words she spoke aloud. Possibilities reverberated and wracked his weakening will.

_This is insane, Cam._

_You want something, don't you? Everyone wants something._

Yes. He wanted something. Something terrible.

_How badly do you want it?_

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HEAD!"

"So," Cameron licked her lips. "There _is_ something..."

_Yes._

**DR. KELLER DEAN**

The reporter tucked the bills away in his pocket. "San Andre's. It's a private complex near Delray."

"Thank you."

"Anything else, Dr, Dean?"

"Not as yet. I'll be in touch."

"And if there's a connection to Vogler, I get the exclusive interview, right?"

"Right."

"Nice doing business with you."

**HOUSE and WILSON**

Wilson ambled along the shore, occasionally stopping to pick up a bit of sea glass and stuff it in his trouser pocket. Old habits dogged him like ex-wives. Cupping his hands against the wind, House lit a thin cigar with difficulty, then puffed away.

"You know what you want doesn't exist, right?"

The scotch blurred Wilson's senses. He felt numb. Unpleasantly, tingly-numb like a foot that had 'fallen asleep', only his whole body and brain felt like that. A smooth shard of green lay buried in the sand. He plucked it, shook it free of water and brushed grit off it.

"Shut the fuck up, House."

"But what if what you wanted DID exist?" Smoke oosed from his nostrils and succumbed to the ocean breeze. "A woman you would never fall out of love with. Someone who'd tolerate your affairs, someone you could be comfortable with, but someone who'd never lose their mystery."

"She doesn't exist."

"She does." Puff.

"Fuck off, House."

"It's all set." Flick.

Wilson turned, his fist clenched. He felt the glass break and pierce the palm of his hand. "You BASTARD! First you take Cameron and then you try to set me up with some other bitch as compensation?" Blood dripped into the water.

House didn't flinch. "Cameron wanted a baby, right?"

"So?"

"You didn't, right?" Puff.

"Get to the point!"

"Look, Allison didn't want me, she just wanted a baby. She wants you, but you don't want a baby. So? House to the rescue. Cameron gets a baby. You get Cameron AND all the fun of a family without the messy legal obligations. She has her place. You have yours. She cheated on you, so she can't complain if YOU play the field. A life long, loving relationship without any real commitment. She is your perfect woman – the one who's always there for you and yet not really yours."

Bits of bloody glass fell from Wilson's grasp. "That's – that's brilliant."

House couldn't resist a smirk. "I know." Flick.

"So," Wilson doggedly picked at a shard of glass stuck in his hand. "why do I still hate your guts?"

"How in hell should I know?" House shrugged and stuck the cigar back in his mouth.

Wilson flicked the slick glass into the waves and sucked at his wound. The shard had almost pierced the other side. Like stigmata.

A hot chill passed through him. He clenched his fist against and tried not to think about that. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an extremely large bird gliding over the waves parallel to them. An albatross. He thought he heard a voice within the surf.

_I want you to suffer, Dr. House._

An unusually large wave surged, swept over their legs and soaked them both to the thighs. Wilson winced at the sensation of his wet pants. He lurched up the beach, out of the sucking wet sand and the frothing foam to firmer, dryer ground. Another unusually large wave caught him from behind, soaking his back. _Dammit!_

A petrified screech pierced his ears. Wilson whirled to see House struggling in the waves. Blood in the water. Something big and gray, thrashing in the surf.

It took a long, horrible moment until Wilson realized a shark's cruel, slitted mouth was latched firmly onto House's leg.

The frothy red waves powerfully receded. Wilson floundered against it and lost his footing. The frantic screaming stopped. When he finally regained his feet, Wilson searched for any sign of his friend.

Nothing.

Greg House had disappeared, a prisoner of the relentless pull of the undertow and something far, far worse.

To be continued.

_AUTHOR'S NOTE_

_Chapter 13 will be the last chapter of the Body's Guest._

_Does House die to endure eternal torment or does he live?_

_Does Chase fall into temptation or grasp redemption at the last moment?_

_You decide._

_Post a compelling argument in the review section to state your case(s)._

_The last chapter will be posted at the end of November._

_I leave the fate of House and Chase in your hands._

_Til then. _

_Bard._


	13. Chapter 13

The Body's Guest

Chapter 13 (FINAL)

Bardvahalla/Bardess/Bardello/Drab (2005)

Long story. Just forget I brought it up.

HOUSE

Within a diffusing cloud of blood, House's fist pounded uselessly on the sandpapery nose of the shark. The shark continued to thrash and bite down. The pain surged. The cloud of red darkened. House's scream turned into bright white gray bubbles. What was it Chase said he'd done? Why hadn't he listened?

Bright new agony radiated from his leg as the bone shattered. Cool saltwater and warmer blood filled his mouth as he futilely screamed. Sharp teeth ripped through muscle and nerve tissue. He felt a fresh tug, felt the leg detach. The pain momentarily faded, somewhat surreally.

The shark swam away, and through the black-red mist House his leg leave with it. He began to sink into deep water, into a dull, deep pain and even deeper regret. No air remained. His next breath would be his last.

_Fuck!_

His ears ached with the pressure as he sank. Clouds of blood enveloped him like a cloak. The sandy floor bumped into his good leg. He would drown. He would die. The shark would return. How many bits of him would wash up on shore, if any? How many people would go to his funeral, if any? 6? 10? Less than a dozen people probably. The weight of regret now filled him like cement, holding him to the sandy floor.

_Fuck._

Blood loss made him feel lightheaded. Through the pain and the blood and the regret House could hear his father's voice, heavy with disappointment. _"He betrayed the only people left who cared for him. So focused on his damn leg he couldn't see the things he still had! And to sell the _souls_ of the few friends who still put up with him? What kind of low life bastard does _that_?"_

Shut up, dad. I'm sorry, okay? I have to die now. See you in hell.

His veins throbbed with dwindling blood. His lungs ached for air. House took a last breath, his expectation the taste of brine and blood.

Except it didn't. The water tasted wrong.

CHASE

_Anything? No questions asked?_ He looked at Cameron, who smiled silkily.

_Anything._

"Give me a minute." Chase went out onto the balcony and pulled the butterfly wings from his shirt pocket. He covered them with cupped hands and closed his eyes.

"Deo adjuvante non timendum". 

He opened his hands. The monarch fluttered away, whole and pure. Reassured, he watched it fly toward the beach. _Godspeed, Andie. _After a momentChase inhaled and turned toward a puzzled-looking Cameron. He now knew what he wanted.

_More than anything …_

CAMERON

She watched the butterfly fly off, its drunken fluttering almost amusing. Surely he hadn't bartered his soul for a mere bug?

He turned to her, his eyes dark and calm. "I know what I want."

This was going to be interesting._ Let's hear it, surfer boy._

_Time and space._

She felt a ripple – as if God himself had skipped a smooth, flat stone over a universal lake.

There was a slight pulse in her belly, as if something had disappeared within her. A familiar coolness filled the gap where her soul once dwelled.

In the beginning… What have you done! 

_Bartered my soul to a higher bidder._

Before she could fathom the implications of Chase's sacrifice, Cameron twitched and screamed.

_House in pain. _

_House in the water. _

_House dying._

Her knees buckled, hit the floor and slid painfully. The carpet burned at her flesh.Abruptly, the mental connection with House severed. Her mind frantically reached out to House - to Anne - to Chase.

Silence. Stillness. Nothing. Realization smacked her fully. _Her baby._ Her baby was _gone_ - snatched away from its brief existence. She was alone again. The deals were all falling apart. She did not recognize her own voice, a high-pitched shriek of rage.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

Chase smiled, his eyes closed in reverence.

HOUSE

House broke the black surface of the water and hoarsely gasped for air. He stood shakily in a familiar, but foul echoing darkness. His leg throbbed, an old familiar agony he though he'd rid himself of forever.

NO! 

He loathed this pain that had dominated his life. Death was preferable.

Minutes passed and he remained sheathed in pain and darkness. Was he dead? The air felt warm, steamy. It reeked of some chemical. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light. In the distance, tiny, dim radiances rippled through what appeared to be frosted glass. House lurched to the edge, leaned on the slick tiles and spat hot water from his mouth.

Where was he?

A familiar and dreaded voice oozed from the darkness. "I wanted you to suffer, Dr. House."

Alba. His hand searched out the platinum locket. It still swung from his neck.

"You crazy, fucked-up bitch." House spat out more chlorinated water and felt his leg. It was there, but the old puckered scar had reappeared along with the old, familiar pain. He automatically patted around for his bottle of Vicodin. It was not there. Neither were his clothes. He realized he stood naked in the steaming therapeutic pool; the very place Anne once brought him.

"I'm in hell."

Alba nodded.

"It's not as crowded as I though it would be." House tried to take weight off his leg. It didn't help much.

"You make your own hell, Dr. House. This is the place you danced and sold your soul for the brief use of your leg. Even you have to see the irony. You betrayed everyone who loves you for a run on the beach, murder and petty revenge."

"At least I got a bit of fun while I suffered." House pulled the locket off and threw it at her. "Didn't bring your son back, did it?"

"The suffering of sons can be a powerful thing, Dr. House. It can change history, the world. Like the flapping of butterfly wings can change the weather. Little changes turn into great changes."

"Here we go…"

Alba laughed and picked up the locket. "Would you do it all again, Dr. House? Sell out yourself? Cameron? You would have even sacrificed Wilson. The one friend who stood by you all these years."

"It was their choice." House bristled.

"It was not!" Alba roared. "No more than the 'choices' you gave your patients. You manipulate the sick and weak - browbeat them into accepting your will, even declaring yourself 'Lord' after stabbing them with a syringe."

"I'm a good doctor." House gritted his teeth.

"But a poor friend and a worse human being, Dr House."

Yes, this was Hell. Hell was being lectured to without Vicodin to ease the pain.

"Now what?"

CHASE

Chase woke in a forest. The air was black and orange with countless wings. He opened his eyes and spoke a single word. "Please." He felt a chaste kiss and saw her smile. He raised his hand. Butterflies covered him, their papery wings whispering of change. He felt his body rise up past the trees, up into the clouds, into the inky deep of space. The bright, radiant moon spun to a slow stop and then hung patiently above the earth.

_Now what?_

ANNE and ALBA

_Now we wait._

HOUSE

"So this is it? I just sit here and stew here for eternity?"

Alba sat and toyed with the locket. Her silence irritated House. He lurched out of the water, grabbed a towel from the bench and wrapped it around his waist. The wall he used for support was slick with condensation and he fell in an agonizing heap at her feet. His leg screamed relentlessly. He peered up at Alba, who continued to play with the locket. "You sold you soul to see me suffer, didn't you?"

"Something like that," she admitted.

"You lead me into this." He clawed at her feet, desperate now.

Smirk. "Wasn't it _your choice_, Dr. House?"

"It was entrapment," House seethed. The tiles were freezing. He began to shiver.

"Then blame Anne for your suffering." Alba kicked his grasping hand away. "Blame everyone but yourself for your suffering."

Scalding tears splattered and hissed on the cold tile. "How is my suffering going to make any difference?"

"Suffering is a tool!" Alba hissing voice echoed his tears. "Until you learn from such suffering you cannot progress. Your pain defines you, Dr. House. It rules you. So much so you will sacrifice all you hold dear to avoid it and yet you _don't_."

He writhed on the tiles, shaking with fear and cold. "Dammit – stop talking in_ riddles_!"

The mocking cruel voice changed. She sounded more like Anne now. "You could have sacrificed your leg. With an amputation you would still have had your life, relatively pain-free. But you refuse to let either your leg or your life go. Why?"

House began to hyperventilate. "After the in-infarction, I would have p-p-preferred death. Stacy robbed me of th-that."

"She did not. She gave you a choice and you ran with it, blaming her for your pain all the while. You certainly thought about death - it would have been easy enough to fill a syringe with something quick and painless. But you didn't. You chose life, Dr House. Why? What were you living for?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" House screamed.

The lapping of the water danced alongside the echos of House's sobs. His weeping finally stilled. Alba, or was it Anne? waited in the silent darkness until his regrets overcame him again.

What _would_ he do differently? He thought of the first day he met Anne. She'd come to the clinic. He wanted food, but he hadn't wanted to listen to Wilson drone on about Julie.

Yes, he would have been a better friend to Wilson. He would have listened to him that night he needed to talk about his failing marriage. His friend had really needed him -

A sound - faint rustling - filled the room, like the fluttering of countless wings.

CHASE 

_Now?_

ANNE

_Now._

ALBA

_Checkmate._

HOUSE REDUX 

The clock on the wall ticked steadily but far too slowly for Greg's liking. Seven minutes to five. He ground his teeth, took the next folder and flipped it open. Minor infection. _Perfect._ He could spritze some Bactine, slap a bandage on – he checked the name - Anne Nomely, and be done by five. He limped to the examination room door, shifted the cane to his upper arm and turned the knob.

A quick assessment dashed his hopes. Her foot infection had built up under old scar tissue. A hard poke above the ankle produced pus. It needed to be drained. House sighed and rang Wilson.

_**SHIFT.**_

"James, I'll be late. Give me a few minutes. I'll meet you in the lobby." House grabbed a plastic bowl and a small blade. Anne lounged on the table, waiting to be drained. "Will this hurt?"

House loved it when patients asked about potential pain whenever he came at them with a knife. "Not as much as an amputation, which it what you will need if you don't let me drain this and take all the nummy antibiotics I'm going to prescribe for you." He sat on a stool and positioned her leg on a stirrup. He made the incision. Yellow pus oozed into the bowl. He should have asked how she hurt herself, but frankly he didn't care. She'd likely lie about it anyway. He applied pressure to speed things up.

Out in the lobby Wilson waited for him, along with a promise of a steak dinner and plenty of expensive booze. House figured another divorce was immanent. Why Wilson felt compelled to marry was beyond him. It would save Wilson a bundle on lawyers, House figured, if he would just buy a pretty woman a mansion, have sex with her until he got bored and then leave her for the next one. He kept saying hookers were cheaper than wives, but Wilson never listened. For him it was the _romance_ of it all.

**SHIFT** Still, it wouldn't kill him to just sit and listen to his old, and only, friend vent for an evening. He would eat and Wilson would talk. That's what friends were for. It was the least he could do. He would offer advice, but Wilson wouldn't take it. No sweat really. After all, not many people would put up with his shit. 

_Antiseptic. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe._

Eight minutes past five. He ripped open the pre-threaded sutures. _Stitch. Stitch. Stitch. Snip_. _Antibiotic ointment. Bandage. Tape_. Done. He wrote out the prescription and tapped her on the shoulder. She pulled out the earbuds and inspected her leg. "Nice work. Didn't hurt at all. Thanks."

House grunted as he rose to his feet. "It hurt me more than it hurt you." He popped a Vicodin and thrust the paper at her. "Here's your prescription. Take them with meals. Take them all or be prepared to lose a foot. Be back next week to get the stitches out. Have a lovely weekend. Goodbye."

SHIFT 

House left the clinic, and for a moment he felt a bit odd - as if his soul hovered a few feet outside his own body. His hand sought out something around his neck or under his shirt. _It wasn't there. _

Why did he think anything was there? The feeling subsided and he walked on. Wilson waited patiently in the lobby. House took a deep breath as the Vicodin began to take effect.

Wilson cleared his throat as they exited the hospital. "Look, I know you hate hearing me drone on about Julie but-"

House stopped him with his cane. "Hey, you buy dinner and booze and I'll listen to _anything_."

"You slut." Wilson mustered a weak smile. "Nice to know I can buy your company."

House pouted. "Actually, I heard a nasty rumor that my parents pay you to be my friend."

Wilson's smile broadened. "I swore not to tell."

House spotted Chase in the parking lot, a serene expression on the young doctor's face as he watched a butterfly. The bug's flight path altered and House paused to watch the colorful insect flutter by. He idly wondered if the weather - somewhere far away, would change.

THE END

AUTHOR's NOTE:

This story, which began in my other stories (and concludes them): **_The Uncertain Hour of the Burning Heart, Obscene House Calls, House Bound, Vicodin Like Flynn, _**and**_ The Riddle of the World,_** is/are now complete. Seriously. This time, this is **it**.

There are a few loose ends and perhaps questions, for example, 'who were Alba and Anne REALLY', and 'what happened to Dr. Dean Keller', and general 'WTF's? (Especially if you haven't read **_Riddle of the World_**, which takes one back to the first moment House met Anne and kinda ties it all together) …but I'll leave the speculation of such trivialities to your imaginations.

Nyah! Nyah!


End file.
